Serve and Protect
by Chedea
Summary: He was supposed to protect her. It was his duty to keep her safe, to keep the monster from her past from ever hurting again. He never meant to fall in love with her. M for language and lemons.
1. Ungodly Hour

**Bonjour reader! Its me again. With another new story. I know, I know, you don't have to tell me, I have a million yet unfinished stories. I'm awful. Truly. But this kind of...well, it literally came to me in a dream. I guess I just wanted to see what it was like in print. It's going to be a little scary, a little graphic, a little intense, but all over, a good read, I hope.**

**Enjoy.**

I.

She was beautiful.

She had been beautiful when she was a little girl, but when she grew up, as she passed through her adolescent years and into her adulthood she had filled out and moved past her awkward phase. Her hips had spread around the age of eighteen and she had gotten beautiful breasts to match. Her hair had darkened and gotten fuller and wavier, turning into a mess of long mahogany curls that begged to be played with. But those eyes, those eyes were the same as they had been when she was eight, still impossibly deep drown, sweet, innocent, warm and lovely. The last time he had seen them they had been filled with such fear it made his whole body tremble just to think of it, but now she lived her life in a normal, if not overly careful way. Fear was not a part of her everyday life, she did not live in it, soak in it, breathe, eat and sweat it.

Isabella Marie Swan, the One Who Got Away, as they liked to call her. She had, very literally, gotten away. It was a mix up, an accident, a series of coincidences that had led to her disastrous, devastating escape. He hadn't found another like her since. For a long time he tried his hardest to find another one, to find release the way he had found it in the others before her.

But that stupid girl, that Goddamn _bitch_ had taken all the joy from his world, and had thus made him feel insane with the need to release, to calm the noises and tension in his mind.

It wasn't supposed to happen that way. She wasn't supposed to run, or find her way to the police or get away and leave him there without a way to make the aching stop. But away she had gone, the police she had found and ache he had bourn for thirteen long years, no matter who he tried to take it out on. It had taken him a few years to realize that she was the only one that could take away the ache now; she was the only one that could make it better. So he found her. And he waited. He was waiting for the right moment, the perfect moment to make her remember, to put the fear back in her eyes.

It was almost time now—almost time to make her remember.

It wouldn't take long.

He picked up the phone.

* * *

II.

The phone rang.

Bella rolled over, pushing her unbidden locks of hair from her face and reached for the phone. She lifted it off the cradle and brought it to her face, swallowing a few times before uttering a groggy greeting.

When no one answered, she spoke again, this time louder in case they hadn't heard her. Still there was nothing on the other end of the line. She waited a moment.

"Mr. Newton, if you are calling me again I am going to have to report you to HR, this is completely inappropriate for a work relationship."

There was still nothing, suggesting to her that it either was, in fact, Mr. Newton calling her and thus he was not answering to save himself the embarrassment and the trouble of having an official complaint made with human resources at their place of mutual employment, or it was someone else who wished not to be known. So instead of torturing herself over it, she hung up the phone, rolled back over and went back to sleep.

The morning came and she more or less forgot about it. She got ready for work, she ate breakfast and she caught the train into the city. The commute overall was uneventful, and her morning at work was the same. Mr. Newton was not awkward with her when she saw him at the community coffee pot. So it hadn't been him that had called her the night before. She shrugged internally. It was probably some teenagers prank calling. It did not concern her.

Until at about two thirty in the morning the next night she got another late night phone call. The same happened, she picked up and there was nothing on the other line. She reacted the same.

She got a call at around the same time every night for a full week. When seven days had gone by with each their accompanying night and phone call, when she answered she did not just hang up. Instead, she gave them a piece of her mind.

"Listen, you stupid little pimple faced asshole, I don't care who you're trying to impress, what girl's pants you are trying to get into, call someone else's house before I find out where you are calling from and make you sorry you interrupted my sleep."

The other line remained silent.

She slammed down the phone. From her bedside drawer she removed the pad of paper and pen she had stashed in there and wrote down the time and date. She checked the caller id to see if there was a number to see who had been calling. As always, it was a private number that she could not see. She marked it down nonetheless and flopped back into her bed, and mentally congratulated herself for her words. Usually she wasn't such a big fan of profanity and threats, but she thought it was called for in this case. She hardly slept these days as it was, and these phone calls we not helping.

She always had nightmares this time of year, in late July. It was almost thirteen years now since it had happened, but every year, without fail, during the last few weeks of July and the first week of August, she had the nightmares. She dreaded going to sleep at night, knowing when she did she would see things, horrible things, terrifying things that years of therapy had not purged her of. So when these phone calls interrupted the little sleep she did manage to get, it made her irritable.

So irritable, in fact, that the next morning she called out sick from that morning's meeting and after dressing and grabbing an apple from her fruit bowl, marched down to the train and notebook in hand, made her way to the police station.

She walked in to the front desk, where she sat and waited until the woman told her that unless it was urgent, she would have to wait another hour until a detective could see her. They were busy.

And Bella, on little sleep, horrifying nightmares still pulsing through her mind, snapped.

"Well lucky me, because it is pretty damned urgent. I'm being harassed, for the past week, its interrupting my sleep, making it impossible for me to function at work or with my friends or fold my laundry or anything else I need to do. So I would _really_ like it if someone could please just _help me_ so I can get back to normal," she interjected, rather loudly. Too loudly, she realized, when the entire front waiting area got quiet. The secretary woman, who seemed like the type not easily rattled and used to dealing with less than pleasant people just nodded, picked up the phone and told her she would get someone on the line. Bella smiled, said a nice thank you, and sat down.

Five minutes later an officer called her name and told her to follow him, please, Detective Cullen would be happy to assist her. She followed along closely behind the officer, trying not to get lost as they wove between desks with people sitting at them, talking to other people just like her, or on the phone or doing paperwork.

He told her to sit down in a chair near a desk that was literally overflowing with paperwork. There was the bottom half of a man there, bent at the knees and the waist, trying to get to something under the desk. He fidgeted underneath his desk as he fished for whatever he was looking for. Bella watched for a moment and then sighed. She knocked on the top of his desk. Her knock was immediately followed by a loud bang and an exclamation of pain. The rest of the half body she had seen rummaging around staggered out from under the desk, rubbing the head attached to the body.

Bella was glad she was sitting down.

He was tall, lithe, and unfairly beautiful. He was rubbing his head through thoroughly disheveled bronze colored hair, which managed to find its way across his brow. Beneath this was the most startling of his features, gorgeous green eyes that flared with annoyance and then calmed immediately when he looked upon Bella sitting in the chair by his desk.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you into injuring yourself, it's just…they said you could help me…I'm Bella Swan…are you alright?"

He continued to rub his scalp as he pulled out his chair and point it to face her. As he sat down he pulled out a small notebook from a pocket in the jacket that hung on the back of his chair, pulled a pen magically from behind his ear hidden in his unruly hair and looked at her intently.

"Of course, Miss Swan, I apologize for being so distracted. They just called my desk to tell me you had come in. Sheila told me you've had some problems with someone harassing you?" he asked, watching her and waiting. She had to gather her thoughts.

"Yes, well, every night for the last week someone has been calling my house in the middle of the night. They don't say anything, but they just keep calling. I don't really know what to do anymore. So I thought why not talk to the police."

The detective nodded while he began writing things down, jotting notes in some sort of shorthand to keep up with her. When he finished he looked at her and smiled in a strangely adorable crooked way.

"Well, there is nothing wrong with being safe and documenting something like this. It is of course possible that it is a group of kids prank calling you. But, we can look into it just to be sure."

Bella sighed in a moment of relief. Had she really been thinking, she might have been more nervous and less annoyed by her harasser, but instead she just lamented lost sleep. She was happy to be able to put the burden of her annoyances on this attractive young detective.

"Thank you so much, Detective," she replied with a smile. He nodded, looked back at his notebook for a moment and then looked at her quizzically. "Is something wrong?"

"Forgive me, Miss Swan, but your name sounds incredibly familiar. Pardoning how cliché this is going to sound, have we met before?" he inquired. There was nothing malicious in his tone and his eyes were nothing but innocent. He wasn't mocking her, wasn't fishing for a predicted answer, wasn't trying to get a story. He was just asking an honest question. So Bella sighed and gave him an honest answer.

"How old are you, Detective?" she asked.

"Twenty-eight," he answered, not sure how it was relevant.

"So you were fifteen when the string of child kidnappings and murders hit Seattle?" she questioned quietly, trying to push away the images, the memories that boiled up in her mind at the mention of that city alone.

"Yes, I had just turned fifteen when the first victim was taken. I was almost sixteen by the time the last one was kidnapped. She was the one that got out alive, the only one. She was―"

"Isabella Swan," she finished for him. His eyes widened. She could see that he remembered it.

She remembered it better.

She shuddered.

"You…you were the eighth victim, the last one, the one that survived?"

She nodded, suppressing the gag reflex that was fighting to function. The nightmares were bad enough as it was, having to reminisce about the ordeal wasn't something she felt particularly inclined to do.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you―"

"Its fine," she said, stopping him with her hand lifted in his direction. "You didn't know, and there is no way you could have known. It's been thirteen years since the case; I don't blame you for not putting two and two together immediately."

The detective smiled sheepishly, as though in apology for bringing up such a horrible thing in casual conversation. He looked as though he had just said something embarrassing at a dinner party instead of reminding Bella of the most horrifying week of her life. She tried to think happy thoughts while he coughed uncomfortably.

"Well, Miss Swan, like I said, I will check into this for you. If I get any pertinent information, I will contact you. Is there a number at which I can reach you?"

Bella responded with the digits of her home phone number, as automatically recited as her name or age. He jotted the numbers down in his tiny notebook and as she got up to leave, he wished her a good day and handed her his card 'just in case'. She smiled a little, her face a shade paler than it had been when she arrived and turned from his desk. She put his card in her pocket with no idea how soon she would use it.

* * *

III.

Edward Cullen watched Bella Swan go. He was sure it was the saddest thing he had ever done.

This woman, no more than a beautiful young girl who had walked into his station house with a problem had with less than a moment's explanation turned into not only a very embarrassing social faux pas, but a strange amorphous puzzle piece. He remembered the case she referenced without a moment's hesitation. In his criminal psychology classes they had briefly touched upon it, and because it had piqued his interest he had delved deeper into the facts of the case.

There had been eight kidnappings in the space of a year. Each time it was a child between the ages of six and nine, gender indiscriminate. They were kidnapped from a familiar place—the playground near their house, the path they walked home from school, their church—and each time they were missing for two weeks. By the medical examiners reports, it was suspected that for the first week the child was not harmed, kept alive, fed and generally cared for.

The second week, the child was tortured beyond recognition. When they were found, dumped somewhere public and conspicuous, they were beaten, knifed, burned and broken. They were twisted beyond anything even the parents could identify. It was only because of the clothes they wore and their dental records the children were even positively IDed. Seven children followed the pattern, stolen, kept alive for a week and then tortured relentlessly for a week before being murdered and dumped. There was not in any of the cases any evidence of a sexual assault.

Thank God for small favors, Edward had thought.

But the eighth victim was different.

She had been snatched, just like the seven before her. She had been kept, just like the seven before her. She had lived through the first day of torture, just like those before her. But on the second day of the second week, she got away. No one knew how, not even the girl herself. All that was known was that on Day Nine of her abduction with the Seattle PD running circles around itself trying to find the poor girl before she was dead, she had been found by the lead detective on the case—Detective Jacob Black—walking the streets without any shoes, her clothes in tatters but still upon her, unable to hide the blood that had dried on her back. She was without a single mark on the entirety of her body, except for four very long, shallow and what had most likely been incredibly painful lacerations upon her back. She was shaking all over, but she was safe.

Her name was Isabella Swan.

And he had just met her, the mysterious survivor. She had been unable to identify the man who had abducted her, only able to confirm it was, in fact, a man. She could tell by his voice. She was only corroborating what the many profilers already suspected.

He didn't know what had happened to her, even though when he was at the academy he was tempted to check out where she was. He could hardly believe she had been right there, in front of him. He had thought, a few times, about what it would have been like to have worked at case, to have been Detective Black when he found her. It was what motivated him to get a spot as a detective in the Major Case Squad. He had worked his ass off to do so, and only two months after getting his shot, he met the grown version of his inspiration and motivation. He looked down at her phone number again, hearing her voice recite it as he read it to himself.

"Cullen, what was that all about?" the voice that spoke was gradually becoming less irritating and more welcome as the days went by and Edward got more used to his new partner. Emmett McCarty had been in MCS for a few years by the time Edward had won his spot, and had taken him on as a new partner. At first it was difficult to adjust to his overly boisterous, almost comically cliché city cop attitude, but over time he was able to see that Emmett was in fact nothing more than a very good man who was trying to work as one of the last honest cops in the city. He did a difficult job and he did it damn well. For that, Edward respected him.

"Do you remember that big kidnapping case from about thirteen years ago, the one in Seattle, had the whole country up in a stir trying to protect its children?" Edward asked back as Emmett took a seat as his desk across from Edward's.

"Sure I do. I was too old for the profiled possible target to fit me, but my mother threw a fit every time I left the house. She would get into a tizzy if I was late ten seconds to dinner at night, even though we lived in Detroit. What does that have to do with the knockout that just left your desk?"

"That was Isabella Swan. She was the eighth victim," Edward explained. Emmett balked.

"I cannot believe I just thought about a kidnap victim naked," he responded.

Edward stared at him a moment. Then they both broke out into hysterical laughter, like they were fifteen again and best friends, sharing some secret joke.

"I don't know why you bothered, with Rosalie to come home to," Edward eventually commented. Emmett grinned devilishly. Rosalie was his girlfriend, soon to be fiancé, if Emmett ever manned up and proposed to her. She was a tough pill to swallow the first few times you met her, but regardless, she had to be one of the most gorgeous women Edward had ever seen outside a Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar. She was all American Pie beautiful—shining golden blond hair, eyes like blue ice and a figure that literally stopped traffic. But she wasn't Edward's taste, not that it mattered. She was completely enamored with Emmett and he with her.

"Oh come on, Edward, you can't lie to me. Even with a gorgeous woman at home, how could any man resist the mental imagery?" he asked. Edward rolled his eyes at the playful glint in Emmett's own and laughed again.

"She came in here with a complaint about harassing phone calls, and I knew I recognized her name from somewhere and so I asked her about it. She then told me who she was and a tripped allover myself like a top grade ass trying to apologize for bringing it up."

"Nicely done, my friend, very nicely done. Who knows, perhaps she found your stumbling charming," he offered. Edward looked down again at the sheet of paper she had handed him, the list of phone calls and the corresponding dates and time. They were placed at different times every night, but it was obvious it wasn't a coincidence that she was receiving so many late night calls.

"I think," Edward replied, "It's more likely she found being reminded of that time in her life painful and uncomfortable. But she did seem genuinely disturbed about the phone calls, not exactly scared, more like angry. I told her we could look into it."

His eyes were scanning the page over again, flipping back over the notes, his mind wandering as he spoke out loud. Edward pondered for a moment why he was given this particular case. MCS didn't handle things like harassing phone calls, but if the front desk was bogged down and she was insistent enough, she must have just gotten passed through to the first available desk, that being Edward's. Presumably he could just pass it along later to the department best trained to handle a case like hers. But thinking back to her determined face as she handed over the list of phone calls, to the way she had visibly paled when speaking of her past made him feel strangely…possessive of the case and the woman it concerned.

"Are you going to check her LUDs?" Emmett inquired. "I have to put in a call to check another set, if you were planning on it give me her information and I can pass it along."

Edward told him the number and Emmett nodded, picking up his own telephone and placing a call to get those records as well as others.

"Should be here by this afternoon," Emmett said with a smile. If they were just prank phone calls made by some teenager, the number would likely show up and he could trace it back to whoever was making the calls.

He and Emmett went through the motions on their other cases, things that had really been played out as close to completion as was possible. They were waiting for the results of their LUDs, and sometimes, even with the technology they had access to, things still seemed to take an eternity.

When the LUDs did come in, Emmett poured over his own records, while Edward was perplexed with his. He immediately skipped all impertinent information and went right to the dates and times listed by Bella.

None of the numbers were the same. In fact, the numbers were all from different phone, pay phones to be exact, at different locations through the city. Someone had, in the wee morning hours, walked or gotten a cab to different locations throughout the city to place harassing phone calls to Isabella Swan. Edward swore under his breath.

"What's the problem, partner?" Emmett asked, looking up over the papers he had in his hands.

"Middle of the night phone calls are most likely…"

"Teenage punks playing a prank," Emmett finished.

Edward handed over the LUDs with its highlighted information.

"Do teenage punks generally go to different pay phones in heavily populated areas at odd hours of the night to place the phone calls?" he asked as Emmett scanned the papers. Emmett scratched the back of his neck the way he did when he was puzzled or disturbed.

"Not many that I've ever seen, but that only leaves less savory options. I'd rather it be teenagers with some ingenuity than a stalker," he answered, handing the paperwork back to Edward.

"I couldn't agree more," Edward replied. He was troubled, more troubled than he wanted to be over what he had assumed would be no big deal past the loss of sleep for Bella.

He took that trouble home with him, ruminating and fretted over what it was going to mean for her if she did have a stalker. The poor woman had been kidnapped and tortured as a child, why did she have to go through more now? Maybe it was someone who had become fixated on her when she was in the news years ago? Maybe it was just your run of the mill man who became obsessed? He wanted it to be run of the mill. He wanted it to be an ordinary case, with an ordinary explanation, even if ordinary meant some man in her office had a shrine to her in his closet and was worshipping her from afar. He would rather it be that, than what he was getting a sneaking suspicion it was.

So Bella's phone call, the one that confirmed his suspicions was both welcome in that it corroborated his intuitions and horrifying because it was the last thing he wanted to hear.

She had come in on a Friday and through the following weekend Edward did what Edward did best—he brooded. He took home the LUDs with him and tracked down each location. They were of course public locations, each with security cameras owned and operated by the city. He knew he was going to have to wait until Monday to put in an official request to look at the tapes, and he was going to have to wait until at least Wednesday before he was able to see them and try to identify a caller on a payphone at one of those particular times on her list. It was going to be pain in the ass grunt work like he did when he walked a beat, doing door to doors and canvassing neighborhoods. It wasn't his favorite kind of work. He was better at the intellectual, better at thinking about the why instead of trying to come up with someone to say what he already knew.

But still, he made a list of the tapes he was going to need to and put it on his to do list to add it to put in a formal request first thing Monday morning. That was all he thought about when he woke up at the start of the week.

Until she called.

His work phone was strapped to his waist along with a few other indispensables, like his shield, a Leatherman and of course, his gun. When it went off as he was putting on his jacket to leave his apartment he thought for sure it would be Emmett, and so when he looked at the caller ID and saw it was not, in fact, his partner at all but instead a number he did not recognize, he was perplexed.

When he answered, he felt his stomach bottom out.

"Hello?"

"Detective Cullen?"

The voice on the other end of the line was quiet, panicked sounding, full of fear and what sounded like tears. It was nothing like the voice she had used when she saw him in the station house, but he knew it right away.

"Miss Swan? Are you alright? Did something happen?" he asked immediately. He felt panic rising in himself just from the edge of fright in her voice.

"No, I am not alright…something…its him. The phone calls were from him, the man who...from when I was a child. I can't believe I didn't see it before but now I do because I got this package, and it's from him. I don't know what to do," she said. Her words came out in a horrified gush, like a damn burst.

"Sit tight, I'll be over as soon as I can," he said. They said goodbye simultaneously, and even though he didn't know her address he ran out the door to his car.

He phoned Emmett while he was running down the stairs. He was, miraculously, already at the station. He provided her name and Emmett provided her address. He didn't need to explain it was an emergency, he was sure it was audible in his voice.

When he arrived at her apartment complex she buzzed him in without hesitation and he bounded up the stairs to her apartment. As he flew up the steps he took a moment to ponder what it was that made him rush over here, speeding faster than was truly safe on his car on his way to get to her apartment and then taking the stairs by twos, weaving through the people descending them first thing in the morning toward work. When he couldn't figure out the answer he decided to file it under the 'Does Not Matter' portion of his motivations and continued until he reached her door.

She demanded to see his shield through the peep hole in her door before she let him in, and when she did he could see she was shaking all over. She had been dressed for work at some point—she had on a business casual skirt suit that in any other moment would have caught Edward's attention more than anything else, but it was the way she trembled even while sitting down, the way she couldn't even hold a cup of coffee as he told her to tell him everything that gave him pause.

"Explain to me what happened, from beginning to end," he suggested gently, trying not to sound too demanding or ask her to do something she couldn't do. She took a deep breath, followed by another and then finally she began to speak.

"I was getting ready for work this morning, and there was a knock on the door. When I answered the door there was a delivery man, he had a box of flowers from a florist around the corner. I signed for them, having no idea who they were from. I thought for sure they were from my boss who has, in the past, made advances that I have shot down. When I opened the box there was a dozen roses. And when I took them out I found…I found this."

She slid a zip lock bag across the table to him. In it was a Polaroid photo of a child, about eight years old. It was a little girl, sleeping on a concrete floor in a very small room, perhaps even a closet. He stared at it and then looked up at her.

"That's me. That's me when I was eight years old. That was the room he kept me in, a tiny closet in the basement of some building, a house, I don't know. All over the walls were pictures, pictures like these of other children. The other children he had taken…he photographed them just like he photographed me. But he had pictures of them from…later in the weeks. There were pictures of them being tortured…of them screaming…of them…_dead_. And there are pictures of me, too, somewhere. He has them all. He is the only one who could have sent this to me. I…the phone calls were from him, too, weren't they? They weren't from some teenagers pulling a prank, they were him, reminding me. It is thirteen years to the day today, you know. Thirteen years to the day since he took me, and this morning I get these roses and this picture."

She was looking away from him, away from the picture, away from the broken vase and puddle of water and roses on the floor. Her eyes were brimming with tears that she seemed utterly determined not to cry. Eventually she swallowed them down. She looked him straight in the eye and said nothing, waiting. Edward searched for the right words. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to take it all away, the pain, the fear, the knowing in her eyes that was slowly growing in himself.

Whoever had taken her thirteen years ago, to the day as she had reminded him, was coming for her now. He didn't know when, or how, or even why, but he was coming for her. And he wanted her to know it. He wanted her scared.

That made Edward angry. He couldn't explain it. He had seen women stalked. He had fielded cases about battered wives, women terrorized by husbands, jealous ex-boyfriends and crazies who thought they had some sort of right. But it had never made him so furious as he was then. He had always been told not to take things to heart in this job, because if you did it would eat you alive. If you felt every case to your core you would never survive. You would be chewed up and spat out faster than you could blink and you'd be worthless for all your trouble.

But no matter how irrational it was, the fact that this man—this _monster_—was terrorizing her made him want to beat something or someone until the rage was gone. Instead he took another deep steadying breath.

"I have some calls to make so we can make sure you are safe, but I promise I am going to figure this all out," he said.

She looked at him like she didn't believe him.

He didn't know if he believed him either. But the one thing he did believe was that even if he couldn't make it all make sense he was going to try. He also believed, no, he _knew_ that no matter what sense it did or did not make at the end of the day, he was not going to let anything else happen to Isabella Swan.

He was going to make goddamn sure of it.


	2. Boy with a Coin

I.

The flowers had been a genius idea. Now she would know that he was watching her, that he could find her, get to her any time he wanted. She would know that he had been keeping track of her for a very long time. She would know that she had never escaped, not really, not forever. She had thought it was over with. She thought she was safe. How funny it seemed that roses could make her feel differently.

Well, roses and one well placed photograph.

He flipped through the other photos he had of her, the Polaroids he had taken of her, sleeping, looking confused, and then of course, the ones of the beautiful work he had done on her back, those gashes had produced the most beautiful sounds from her tiny mouth.

The idea of hearing her screams as an adult now made his mouth water.

He just had to wait. It wasn't right yet. The part of him that needed to slake the bloodlust was screaming _nownownownownownownownownow_ in his head, but he shoved it down under. He was a patient man. He had always been a patient man. He would wait until it was right.

And then he would make her pay for ever running away. She would suffer more than the others had ever suffered. She would be so very sorry she had ever deprived him. He smiled and felt the needs and urges simmer down to a manageable level.

Patience was, after all, a virtue.

II.

Bella had to go into the station with Detective Cullen to make an official statement, and also to submit her fingerprints. They needed them to exclude hers from any that were on the photograph in case the man who had sent it to her had left his behind. She could tell by the way Edward told her about this plan that he doubted there would be prints on the Polaroid just as much as Bella did, but they didn't speak about the doubt in both their eyes. They just went through the motions as she shook, still trying to calm her nerves.

She had been in therapy since she had been rescued by Detective Black thirteen years prior, but no amount of therapy, or learning to deal with what had happened, or understanding and accepting her trauma was enough to quash the terror filling her.

He knew where she was. He had found her, and he knew where she was, her home. He could come after her. He was _going_ to come after her. She could feel it. He wouldn't have sent that picture just to taunt her, it was a warning, it was a message, that he was going to come after her and there was nothing she could do because after thirteen years he hadn't forgotten about her. He had tracked her down. He intended to kill her, and she was sure whatever came before the death he had in mind for her would be excruciatingly painful and horrifying.

Part of her had always felt as though it wasn't over. Something in her had always screamed that a man who knew exactly when and where she would be alone on her walk to school, her favorite foods, the name of her stuffed animal, would not let go so easily. She had tried to make those feelings go away, and over the years while the memories faded so did the feeling of unfinished business. Except for the one time of year when she had the nightmares, her life was mostly normal. Most people didn't recall the name of the one surviving victim from that string of kidnappings. In fact, Detective Cullen had been the first in many years to remember.

When he_ had_ remembered at first she had been sick with the feeling of being reminded of it, and of having someone else know that those things had happened to her. But after she left the station, holding his card in her hand later that night she had felt strangely comforted by the idea that the darkest part of her past was out in the open with someone, unlike most of the people she spent her time with. She tried her best to keep that a secret from her co-workers and the friends she made in her new city. She didn't want to be labeled as a pity case, or as an outcast because of the trauma.

Enough damage had already been done in nine days and the years after. Those days kept captive had been awful enough. But for years she couldn't sleep alone in a room with the lights off. She couldn't walk to school again until she was seventeen, and even then sometimes she would panic and hyperventilate. If someone took her picture she would have a panic attack. If she thought someone was following her, even in the hallway at school, she would have a panic attack. If she saw a knife sharper than a butter knife she would break into a cold sweat and probably vomit. She still didn't go swimming or wear anything that revealed any part of her back, because not matter what they had tried to do at the hospital, she still had four, deep, angry scars across her back, marring her skin like a permanent reminder that she was damaged goods, she was broken. She had been mutilated and would never heal, no matter what she tried to do.

So hearing Detective Cullen speak so casually about it had made her feel nauseated, and then she calmed and thought that maybe it would be nice for just one moment to have someone know the worst thing about her and have it be okay. Through the weekend when she woke up from a terrifying nightmare, panting, in a cold sweat she would reach to her nightstand hold his card in her hand and calm herself down. Strange as it was, she trusted him, and the thought that he was going to make things alright soothed her.

So when the roses had arrived and the photo with them her first and only thought was that she had to call him. She had to. Because he would make things alright. He would fix it. She swallowed the tears and panic and dialed his number. She got it right with her shaking fingers on the third try. When he answered and she told him what had happened he could hear the change in his voice, the way he switched right into Serve and Protect Mode and he was at her apartment in less than ten minutes.

To his credit, he hadn't left her for a single moment after he arrived. He had taken her to the station in his car when the forensics people arrived to collect the evidence. He had taken her statement himself, his partner—a huge and intimidating looking man whom Edward had introduced as Emmett McCarty—stood in the corner of the conference room, listening with an expressionless face. When she had to go through the printing process he had done it himself as well, making jokes about how long it had been since he had taken anyone's prints and trying to lift her mood. When it was all over, and the only thing left to do was wait, he sat her at his desk, Detective McCarty in tow.

"Well, all we can really do is wait for the print lab to get back to us and hope that they got something off the Polaroid," he told her, fidgeting slightly.

"You know they won't," she said back, not bothering to mask her doubt any longer. She saw his face fall, as though he had thought he had been keeping that piece of unfortunate speculation from her. "Be straight with me, Detective Cullen. I had enough of people asking me questions and not giving me any answers when I was eight years old. I am a big girl now and I deserve to know what is going on."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair uneasily, with a momentary glance at Detective McCarty. The other detective shrugged.

"The truth is, the chances of us getting and forensic evidence off of the flower box or the Polaroid are slim. We might have a chance if we can track down who he ordered the flowers from, or from the security tapes from the areas around the pay phones he used to call you, but something tells me he is the kind of guy pays with cash and stays out of view of cameras. Our best bet is just to wait and hope that when he makes a move—and I assure you, Miss Swan as awful as it sounds he _will_ make a move—we will be there to apprehend him."

She looked at him, bottom lip between her teeth. She looked both unhappy and pensive.

"That is all you can do?" she asked. Her voice had a tone of foreknowledge of an unhappy answer. Detective Cullen nodded.

"I wish we could do more. For now, we are going to put a patrol car outside your apartment building. I am going to give you my home number and personal cell phone number in case you need to reach me at any time, for anything at all. If you get spooked by a bump in the night, I want to know about it. We don't know what to expect this time around, Miss Swan. When he took you when you were a child, we knew what was going to happen. We are taking a swing in the dark here. He has had years to plan, and we are trying to play catch up."

As he said this he took out his small notebook and began scribbling something down. When he ripped out the page and handed it to her it had _Detective Edward Cullen—Major Case Squad_ scribed across the top in surprisingly neat script, followed by his home number and his cell phone number. She looked at it for a moment before folding and pocketing it.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked.

"Tell me everything is going to be alright, even if you have to lie. And call me Bella."

He didn't blink, didn't flinch, didn't fidget.

"Everything is going to be alright…Bella."

She believed him.

III.

Bella left the station shortly after their conversation, the police car transporting her. Edward watched her go with an equal mix of fear and guilt. He was terrified of what might happen to her while she was away from him, in the world alone, with a serial killer out for her blood. But he also felt tremendously guilty for lying to her about things being alright. He couldn't promise it to her. He didn't know that things would be alright. It made him sick.

But she had asked him to make that promise, even if he had to lie, so he _had_ lied. He had given her what she needed, even if it wasn't real.

He had been surprised by her sudden strength in what he had thought was a personality made of meekness. She had, from almost nowhere it seemed, grown into a different woman, one that was strong, capable, one who understood the world and knew better than to be meek. It had taken him a bit aback, in a very good way. He had been happy she had shown her colors in those moments, the ones where she demanded to know the truth, even if a moment later she demanded to hear a lie.

"She is an interesting woman," Emmett said from behind him at his own desk. Their captain had assigned them both to her case now that it seemed there was a major player in the mix, not just some prank caller or stalker. On their desks lay the previous case files, both hers specifically and all the case files available on the string of abductions. Edward sat looking at the mountain of paperwork he had to read through and nodded.

"I was just thinking the very same thing," he admitted absently, trying to decide what to look through first. Emmett, being the surprisingly responsible and on top of things kind of man that he was had put in a request to view the security tapes, and their captain had put a rush on it. They figured they would have them by the afternoon. The print lab should have been able to give a cursory analysis of the fingerprints on the photo by the afternoon as well. If there was anything on those tapes or any other fingerprints on the picture, they should know about it by day's end.

Both he and Emmett made their way through the case files all morning. They read as much history and profiling as they possibly could on the cases and the sick fuck who had taken Bella and the others. By the time the afternoon had actually rolled around, they had made it through half of the stacks lying upon their desks.

"Detective Cullen?" a voice pulled Edward from his files, where he was reading about the weapons used to inflict torture upon the other seven victims. They were listed alphabetically, and a third of the way through he was still only at 'branding iron'. He was happy for the distraction, without it he was sure he might be sick.

He looked up at who had spoken and it was a young officer holding a rather large cardboard box full of video surveillance. He nodded and motioned for the officer to put it down on a chair near his desk. He sighed as he looked through the stacks. There were several different locations, the tapes pulled for the week of the calls. There would be a lot to sift through, but luckily he knew the exact time of the calls and so he could skip through most of the useless video. He wouldn't have to sit and watch day's worth of video in fast forward trying to catch something significant. He only had to look at the times she had written down.

He silently and privately thanked her for being so damned smart and on top of things. He had her LUDs of course, but the fact that she had even thought to write it down impressed him. He told Emmett he was going into the conference room to use the television and look at the tapes and was acknowledged with a wave as Emmett kept reading.

He disappeared into the room he had chosen to view the tapes in, placing a 'do not disturb' sign on the door handle. He didn't need a distraction. He took Bella's handwritten record along with the LUDs into the room so he could check the correct dates and times with the correct locations.

He put in the first tape, the security film from a train station's payphones. The tape started at Monday, at midnight. He fast forwarded to two am. The call was placed at two twelve. He watched the twelve minutes of video before the call was placed in case someone was lingering there, loitering in the area. But he saw no one until two eleven. At that time a person, someone he assumed to be a man by the body shape came into the view of the camera. He was wearing a blue windbreaker and a baseball cap.

He kept his face turned away from the camera for the entirety of the call. The clothes he wore were undistinguishable at best. There was no way, from that tape, Edward or anyone else would be able to identify him.

Every tape showed the exact same thing. Same windbreaker, same baseball cap, same avoidance of cameras. This man knew where the cameras were in the locations he chose to make sure that he wasn't seen. There was nothing usable on any of the tapes sent to him. Edward put his head in his hands and drew a deep breath, trying to calm the building rage he felt. He was shaking with anger he knew, _he knew_ he shouldn't have been feeling. But he couldn't stop. When someone knocked on the door he almost jumped out of his skin. He realized he had been sitting that way for a very long time, obsessing over the man who might as well have been invisible on the videos, trying to keep calm.

"Edward," the voice through the door was Emmett's and he immediately cooled off. He told Emmett to come in and when he did Emmett stared for a moment at the paused screen.

"That the son of a bitch?" he asked. Edward nodded.

"Every tape is like this, every single fucking one. There is nothing on any of them that could be used to identify him. His clothes are ordinary. Anyone could have those. He doesn't ever show his face to camera. Which means he has scoped the place out before; he knew he would be going there to make the calls. He has had this all planned out for a very long time. That means he is patient, and the last thing I wanted was a patient man."

"Why is that?"

"Because an impatient man makes mistakes, an impatient man needs his next victim to satisfy something in his mind and because of that he is sloppy. But a patient man, a man like this, he doesn't _have_ to do anything. He could wait for years while waiting for the perfect situation to present itself. And when it does he will execute a well thought out plan to get his desired result. The fact that he has begun to reveal himself to her means that he intends to act soon," Edward said, still staring at the shape on the screen with its back to the cameras.

"Patient men it seems don't leave fingerprints either," Emmett interjected. He handed Edward the report that had come from the print lab. It was a quick job, the technician had told them it would be, and it wouldn't hold up in court if they needed it to, but it appeared that there were not fingerprints on the photo besides those of one recently printed Isabella Marie Swan.

"God fucking damn it, who _is_ this guy? He kidnaps and tortures kids, _kids_ with things like branding irons and blow torches. And when one gets away instead of letting it go, he _obsesses_. He stalks her for thirteen fucking years and when he finds her, he doesn't just kill her, oh no, that would be too sane for this sick son of a bitch, he toys with her first. He is going to terrify her, and then torture her and then kill her."

He paused for a moment and sighed.

"He is going to kill her, Emmett. He is going to kill her and there is nothing we can do."

Emmett didn't say anything for a long time. Edward felt himself get calmer as the minutes ticked by. He knew Emmett had let him rant because he needed to, because watching tapes for three hours and getting nothing at all had frustrated him, because he had gotten up this morning gotten a horrified call from Bella who was being scared half to death, and because he had just promised everything would be alright to a woman he knew would most likely not survive her current ordeal.

When he finally did speak, it was not at all what he thought he would say.

"You swear like a fucking sailor when you're pissed off," Emmett commented nonchalantly. Edward knew it was his way, to try and relieve the tension by bringing something else up. He knew that they would keep working the case, that they would do their best, and that Emmett would keep him on track as best he could. Edward grinned in spite of himself.

"Fuck you," he replied.

* * *

"Have you thought about getting in contact with this Detective Black at all?" Emmett asked. It had been three days since Bella had gotten the roses and there had been no movement. Nothing else had happened, not a package nor a phone call. She still had the officers outside her apartment building and her work, but it didn't make Edward feel any better. The longer the freak who was after her took to try something, the more nervous he became, and likely Bella felt the same way.

He and Emmett had been working full days reading case files, taking up old leads, tracking down old witnesses, who were scattered across the country, some now dead or simply seeming to have dropped off the face of the earth. It had crossed Edward's mind to try and find the detective, or now ex-detective. He might have some information not in the files that could be pertinent, but he had been so busy with the million other things that he had to do when opening a cold case and trying to maintain his sanity as well as Bella's safety that wanting to had turned into doing it later.

"Thought about it, why, do you think I should?" he asked, flipping through a different witness list, looking at who had not yet been crossed out as contacted, dead or missing.

"I think he is an old school detective who probably has more in his head than he had in his notes or reports. He worked the original case and he probably got a feel for the sick bastard more than we can, working from cold case files. I think it would be a good idea to talk to him, even if he can't tell you much. He might not know anything, but he could also give you the key to cracking this thing," Emmett responded.

It was moments like that which reminded Edward why it was Emmett had gotten a spot at MCS. He might not have been so good at the why, not as fascinated with the psychology or figuring out the motivations or knowing the next steps, but he knew his shit.

Edward didn't hesitate a moment more at his partner's advice. He dug through some of the files on his desk and found the ex-detective's current phone number. Surprisingly, by luck or chance or some other cosmic force, he just so happened to only live a few hours away. He picked up the phone on his desk after he managed to locate it under the piles of manila folders and loose papers and random writing utensils. He dialed the number and waited while it rang.

"_You have reached Jacob Black. I am unable to take your call right now, so please leave a message and if I deem you important enough, you'll get a call back_," the answering machine told him. Edward sighed and rolled his eyes. This man was going to be a piece of work. But when the tone sounded in his ear, he began to speak nonetheless.

"Mr. Black, this is Detective Edward Cullen at the BPD MCS. I was calling in regards to an old case of yours—the Isabella Swan case. There have been some…recent developments that have brought the case back and I was hoping to get to speak with you about it, perhaps get anything on the case you didn't put in a report that might be of use. If you could call me back at this number, I would appreciate it. Have a good day."

He added the last part on a whim, without really thinking about it. It was a courtesy and he hopes if nothing else, his being polite would make this man call him back. He was running out of ideas when it came to finding something in the files, and if nothing happened, he would have no choice but to wait and keep tracking down old witnesses who didn't know anything.

Emmett looked up from his desk long enough to give him a nod of approval and said nothing.

Edward waited. He went to get him and Emmett lunch from the deli across the street and had his food at his desk. He had no messages when he returned and received no phone calls while he ate.

It wasn't until he was almost leaving his desk that his phone did ring. He grabbed it up with deliberate quickness, thinking it must have been the ex-detective, finally returning his call.

But he was met with Bella's soft voice across the line.

"Detective Cullen?"

"Bella," he answered. "How can I help you?"

"Bump in the night," she answered. He felt himself smile at her use of his words as well as the sheepish tone of her voice as she said them. He didn't want to laugh and make it seem like he was making fun of her, but it was adorable.

"I'm just about to get off of work. Why don't I swing by and make sure it's just a bump and not a serial killer?" he asked. He was trying to sound nonchalant, and to his great surprise and happiness she laughed quietly.

"I think that would make me feel better," she answered. Edward agreed upon it, and said he would be there as soon as he could. She thanked him and they hung up.

Emmett was staring at him when he hung up the phone.

"You could have just radioed the officers outside her apartment to check things out for her," he informed Edward, as though he wasn't aware. Edward pulled his jacket off the back of his chair and slid his arms through the sleeves.

"I could have, but then while they were checking things out, no one would have been watching her building. I don't know about you, but I am not in the mood to create a hole in the surveillance for a dedicated, patient, insane serial child killer to slip through," he answered. It sounded logical. Emmett just laughed.

"That's why there are two of them," Emmett answered smoothly. Edward opened his mouth and then shut it again. "Close your mouth before someone sees you looking like a fool. Go rescue the damsel in distress, I won't tell anyone you're making unnecessary house calls."

"It isn't unnecessary," he argued. He was met with a grin and Emmett held up his hand with another laugh.

"Whatever you say, partner. See you tomorrow."

Edward grumbled but didn't say much else other than goodnight as he turned and left. He took his car and drove a little faster than the speed limit, not too fast to be dangerous. On his way there he radioed the officers posted outside her apartment that he would be stopping by. They just ten-foured him and gave him a nod when he passed their car.

She buzzed him into her apartment like she had a few morning prior and he climbed the stairs at a more leisurely pace than he had when he had been rushing to help her the morning she called in a desperate panic.

When her door opened after his first knock they greeted each other and she let him in with none of the haste of terror.

"Tell me about the bump," he said. She smiled a little, a half smile somewhere between amusement and borderline fear.

"It probably isn't anything. But I was making dinner and I heard someone knock on my door, and when I went to look through the peep hole there was no one there. It just kind of…freaked me out a little. And you said to call about anything, so I called you," she said, her words coming out faster and faster as time went on, like she had suddenly become embarrassed that she had called him in the first place. Twin roses of blush bloomed across her lovely cheeks and she looked down, avoiding eye contact.

"I am glad you called me, Bella. I told you that you should, no matter how small something is. If it scared you, or felt wrong, you did the right thing to let me know."

"I feel ridiculous," she said quietly. For no reason at all, he extended his hand and covered hers with it. She looked up at him with surprise in her eyes, but it faded and she sighed quietly.

"Don't. You have every right to be jumpy. Hell, you have every right to be shaking out of your own skin all day long not sure if you're going to be murdered or abducted around the next corner. If someone playing ding dong ditch didn't freak you out a little bit, I would question your sanity."

She laughed a little. He squeezed her hand. She smiled wider.

For what seemed like the first real time he noticed that her smile was truly a beautiful thing.

"So, what were you making for dinner, it smells like it was something good," he said, pulling his hands back and trying to sound casual and like he had not just thought, for a split second about how beautiful Bella Swan was.

"Oh, I was making chicken fajitas, but I got interrupted. I don't think I'll bother now, more likely than not I'll just order Chinese," she said with a shrug. Edward leaned back in his chair and glanced into her kitchen, which was open to viewing by the open floor plan of her apartment. There was a skillet on the stove, a cutting board on the counter with peppers and onions beside it on the counter, a knife poised at the ready right next to it. He realized the smell had been the chicken she had already begun to cook.

"Why don't you let me help you finish these so you can eat real food instead of take out? If you end up in protective custody all you'll get is take out, you should savor real food while it is still available to you."

She grinned in a strange halfway enthusiastic way.

"If you can chop vegetables while I finish cooking chicken, I think I could use your help," she said.

Edward took off his jacket, unbuttoned the sleeves of his button up shirt and rolled them up to his elbows. Bella glanced at him for a moment, her eyes catching the gun on his hip. He thought for a moment that she was going to ask him to take it off.

"I'm glad you have that. It makes me feel safer," she admitted, gesturing to his sidearm. He nodded and said nothing about it as he followed her into the kitchen. She went right to the stove and turned it back on, taking the spatula resting beside the skillet and beginning to stir around the sliced up chicken. Edward, without a word, picked up the knife and began to slice up the peppers.

"You seem familiar with a chef's knife," she commented as she cooked. Edward nodded to himself more than anything else.

"My mother was an expert in the kitchen, and she taught me to cook when I was old enough not to hurt myself," he told her.

"Then my kitchen skills will most likely be embarrassingly inadequate," she answered.

Edward watched the way she deftly moved her hands, stirring, adding spices. It was skill built with repetition and practice.

"You seem to be doing fine."

She smiled.

They finished cooking without much more words between them. There was a certain strangeness to their comfortable silence, like maybe it should have been so comfortable, not so soon, not having known each other for so little time. And yet they didn't speak and Edward didn't feel like they had to.

He thought he enjoyed that more than anything else.

"Have you eaten, Detective?" she asked, as she watched everything come together after much chopping and stirring. When she voiced her question Edward felt a moment of swift panic. It was one thing to come check on a person whose case he was handling; it was another completely to have dinner with her.

He had blurred the line helping her cook, he realized, but he had to stop now. He was a detective, she a woman he was supposed to be protecting. Having dinner with her would be breaching far too many ethical limits. He couldn't, with a clear conscious, stay there and do something so intimate.

"I had lunch, but you don't have to worry about me, I have plenty of food in my apartment."

She looked at him, appearing a bit crestfallen, but said nothing for a moment.

"I suppose that makes sense. It probably isn't proper to have dinner with someone you are currently under legal obligation to look after," she mused.

Women never made Edward feel uncomfortable before, but in that moment he fidgeted like a child being scolded by his parent under her questioning gaze. She both amused and perplexed him.

"You suppose correct," he admitted. He felt almost embarrassed to say it. He didn't want to offend or upset her, or make her think that he was in some way rejecting her. He really just couldn't stay.

"If I brought lunch into your office, for your partner and you, would that be proper enough, Detective Cullen?" she asked.

He almost laughed out loud. Instead he grinned.

"Yes, Bella, that would be perfectly proper."

She flashed a grin and once again, he marveled at how beautiful she was.

He picked up his jacket and put it over his arm. He looked at her one more time, longer than he needed to. She looked like the type of woman who didn't really realize how stunning she was, that carried herself as though she were ordinary.

He didn't think she could be ordinary if she tried.

"Have a good night, Bella," he said before he could get himself into any trouble. "Call me if you need anything at all."

"You too, Detective."

"Call me Edward, Bella."

She smiled widely.

"Goodnight, Edward."


	3. Timelapse Lifeline

**Hello readers. I am adding this AN for two reasons. One is that a reader pointed out that I use some abbreviations you might not be familair with. So here they are:**

**LUDs--Local Usage Details, they are basically a list of incoming and outgoing calls made from any particular phone**

**BPD--Boston Police Department**

**MCS--Major Case Squad**

**CO--commanding officer**

**I think thats about it on those? If there are more that I've missed, please, let me know.**

**The other reason is that a couple of my stories were nominated for the Indie Twilight fanfiction awards. Pina Coladas and Getting Caught in the Rain was nominated, as was She Wants To Play Hearts. If you read those, and liked them, feel free to go to the website and check out the voting lists. theindietwificawards dot com**

**enjoy this chapter, readers :)**

I.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would enact step two in his beautiful plan. It was like a masterpiece of an artist, like the final symphony written by a great composer. It was his finest work ever, and he would be remembered forever for it. Not that it was notoriety he was seeking―not in the least. If it was publicity he truly craved he could have been far more graphic, gruesome, public with his killings. But it was notoriety that got men caught, sloppy men who didn't know how to keep their heads down and their ear to the ground. He was not one of those men.

Still though, he was giddy with the idea of things moving along. After waiting for so long, the idea of things finally going forward, of actually getting to start his work again after so long filled him with excitement and also a panicked need he was able to keep barely under control.

When he saw her, he was going to have to work very hard not to just lose all control and kill her right away. He needed to calm down.

He went through his apartment, into his bedroom and into the walk in closet. When he opened the doors and pushed the clothes aside he was instantly soothed. It was his one true indulgence.

Polaroids lined the walls and ceiling of the closet, surrounding him with the work he had done on seven children before Isabella Swan had ruined everything. Just looking at those photos was like taking a breath after swimming under water too long. He felt his entire body relax.

Once the screaming in his head was gone he went back to work.

Tomorrow.

II.

Police detectives should not be so damned attractive. Or good in the kitchen. Or kind or smell so good.

At least, that was Bella's opinion. It wasn't fair that the man supposed to be keeping her safe just so happened to be the most gorgeous man on the face of the planet. It made her do stupid things, like invite him to stay for dinner. She had felt rejected when he had hedged around the subject, telling her in as nice a way as was possible that he was turning down her invitation. Of course she understood why he _had_ to say no. It would have been completely inappropriate.

But there seemed to have been a break in protocol when he had stayed with her to help cook dinner after she had called him. She had been frightened, and she had needed to call him just like he had asked her to. But once he was there, and she was calm, she felt her whole body telling her to do something to make him stay. And when he had offered to stay and help her cook she had been filled with quiet, surprised elation. She hadn't thought he would _want_ to stay. Didn't he have a life that she was taking him away from? Wasn't there a girlfriend or fiancé waiting for him that she was keeping him from?

But he seemed unruffled at the idea of spending more time with her. So she let him into her kitchen and gave him her chef's knife―something she never let _anyone_ touch―and they cooked.

He seemed to feel it too, she had thought, how easy and natural it seemed to be standing side by side in her kitchen making dinner, like they had done it a thousand times before. There was no need to fill the silence with idle chatter either, it was fine to remain quiet and just know they were there. It both comforted and unnerved her.

But now that he was gone, now that dinner was over, she had eaten and cleaned, she made herself go to work making the lunch she had told him she planned on bringing in. She took out another chicken breast to cook. When it was done she shredded it and went to work making what she had been informed was the best chicken salad ever to be created. When it was cooked, mixed, spiced correctly and adequately taste tested she put in a Tupperware for the night. She would make sandwiches and oatmeal cookies in the morning to bring along.

On her way out of the kitchen she passed the table she had Edward had sat at when he came to check on her. Atop it was his card, a little worse for wear since she had received it. She picked it up on her way to her bedroom. Just like his gun, just like his being there, she felt a certain amount of comfort from its presence.

She slept soundly for the first time in a long time.

* * *

"Bella, I can tell you I am sorry that you are in life threatening danger, but I am not sorry that your current situation has brought me this sandwich."

Bella laughed. Emmett―as he had insisted she call him―had not been able to stop complimenting her cooking. As he took the last bite of the chicken salad sandwich she had made him he grinned like a fool and thanked her again for lunch. He finished off the coke he had gotten from the vending machine as she revealed her last surprise of the day.

"I brought cookies, too," she admitted, almost sheepishly.

Emmett's jaw dropped.

"Tell me those are oatmeal raison," he practically stuttered.

"Try them for yourself," she said, tossing him a zip lock bag with four cookies in it. She placed Edward's own baggie on his desk by his sandwich, which he was at a slower pace but with no less enjoyment, working his way through. He smiled in thanks, chewing a bite of sandwich. She nodded happily. Bella had always labeled herself as a feeder―it was one way she knew she could always make people happy.

"God, Bella, did you put _heaven_ in these cookies?" Emmett asked.

"Yes, actually, I did. God and I have an exclusive agreement, I can take a piece of heaven for my baked goods if I made him all the Red Velvet Cake he could ever want," she quipped. Emmett grinned.

"If I weren't already in love with a woman, I might ask you to marry me, Bella," he informed her.

The conversations they had during the lunch continued on in that same fashion. They did not discuss the case. They did not speak of danger outside of a joking manner, they did not mention the fear she felt everywhere but exactly where she was in that moment. They talked about meaningless things, like cookies and where she went to college.

For a while, she forgot why she even knew the detectives, how it was she came to be in that police station in the first place. She could just talk and laugh and eat lunch and she felt like she had never really belonged anywhere like she belonged there.

And then her phone rang.

She thought for sure it as Mr. Newton, her boss of sorts, telling her she had gone over her hour for lunch. But the number was not one she recognized when she looked at the caller ID. She picked it up and answered with her nicest phone voice.

"Hello?"

There was a long pause.

"Isabella Marie Swan."

It was not a question. Bella felt a chill run through the entirety of her body and her stomach churned.

"Yes, who is this?" she inquired. The voice laughed.

"Think about it, and you will understand. I think you know who this is."

She thought.

She noticed Emmett and Edward's faces turn from questioning to concern as the blood drained from her face. Her breath caught completely in her lungs, and for a whole moment, the world stopped. She felt her shaking her head in shock and horror and disbelief.

"You…you…"

"Yes. You remember. I don't make mistakes twice, Bella. Try and remember that, too.

The phone line went dead.

Bella vomited. Her stomach forced itself to empty and kept on heaving long after there was nothing left in her stomach to throw up. She was shaking from head to toe. She felt like she was frozen and on fire at the same time, like she was going to keep being sick for the rest of her life. She was crying without even really realizing it.

It took her several minutes to stop dry heaving, several more to stop crying and a full half an hour to stop shaking. In that time Emmett and Edward had already started working on tracing the call. It had come from a prepaid cell phone or another pay phone, most likely, they had told her. Someone so careful wouldn't risk being found, not now.

She heard their words, heard them speaking, but she could get _his_ voice out of her mind. It was echoing in her ears, and she could hear him laughing, _laughing_. Every time she heard it again she felt another tremor of fear run through her.

As soon as she was able to make it to her feet, Edward led her away from the squad room, away from the eyes that had turned to her when she had began to vomit, the ones that had stayed there as she dissolved into nothing but a bundle of frayed nerves.

They sat in a conference room, Bella still shaking. There had been a silent conversation between Edward and Emmett that Bella was not too out of it to notice. Emmett would work, and Edward would stay with her.

When she had stopped shaking, Edward attempted to discreetly remove the notepad he kept and his pen to take notes as he asked her, quietly, carefully, what had been said on the phone.

She recounted the conversation. She told him every work he had spoken. It made her stomach roil to say it out loud, to have the words echo in her head _again_ but she did it because she knew she had to.

When she was done talking and Edward had finished his notes he put down his notepad and sighed. He put his hands across the table to hers, covered them completely. The warmth of his hands atop hers made her stop her shaking immediately. She looked up at him.

"I am not going to let anything happen to you," he told her.

"I know you'll try," she said quietly. He shook his head emphatically.

"I am not going to try, Bella. I am going to make sure."

"You can't promise me that, Edward. You cannot tell me that you will make sure nothing happens to me when you _know_ as well as I do that whoever this is, they are after me now more than ever. I know you are going to do your best, and I am thankful for that, more than I could possibly explain to you. I know I asked you to tell me everything was going to be alright, but I don't want you to lie to me anymore. I can't believe that, not after…"

She trailed off, stared into space for a moment and then got up from her chair so fast that it fell over.

She shrieked, in rage and frustration and fear.

"Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? Was I _Hitler_ in a past life? I have lived my whole life afraid, broken because I was a victim, and I am just starting to come out of it, just starting to live a real life again, and he comes back, he haunts me. What does he _want_ from me?"

Edward got up out of his chair as well, although not quite as dramatically.

"He wants this, right here. He wants you to be terrified, to spend all your time thinking about him, the way he spends all his time thinking about you," he replied, even though he was fairly certain it had been a rhetorical question.

"What do I do?"

"You live, Bella. That is how you win. You live because you deserve it, because you've earned it, because he doesn't have the right to take that from you."

"And if he gets to me anyways?"

"Let me worry about that," Edward commanded with a quiet sternness.

"But―"

"Bella, I am serious. I know you are scared. I know that. It's in your eyes; it's the way you move. I can see it. And I have told you that you every right to be afraid. I won't tell you not to be. But I would hate to see you let it ruin you. Everyone handles stress and fear differently. I don't want you to be reckless or put yourself in danger intentionally, but I don't want you to crawl into a hole and hope that it turns out okay in the end either. So when I tell you to let me worry about it, it isn't because I think that I can unburden your mind, it's because you deserve more than sitting at home, too scared to go outside."

Bella opened her mouth and then closed it. She was not the type of woman to be at a loss for words, but she had to pause then to gather herself. Finally, she just nodded and said, "Okay."

He promised to call her if there was anything new to tell her and she promised to do the same. He got an officer to drive her to work. They parted ways after saying goodbye and he and Emmett thanking her again for lunch.

Edward's words rang in her ears as she sat in the car on the way back to her work. They were fighting with the words of the man who was after her, but they won out in the end, and she heard them, clear as day.

_You live, Bella. That is how you win_.

She would do her best.

III.

The LUDs came back on Bella's cell phone a little while later, and as predicted it was a prepaid cell phone. There was no way to trace it, or figure out who the caller had been. It was another dead end in a case that was made entirely out of dead ends.

When Emmett handed over the results Edward felt himself getting angry and checked the rage before it overwhelmed him. Bella didn't need him flying off the handle and being stupid, she needed him on the ball. He had comforted her as best as he could after the phone call, but what could he really say to her? He tried his best but still felt like the things he had said fell flat. She needed more than just words of comfort. She needed the bastard behind bars or dead.

The worst thing was that he felt useless. He had run down the leads of the flower shop—a dead end of course, because no one remembered who had ordered the flowers and the person had paid cash. He looked through all the surveillance footage again, just to be sure there was nothing useful before passing on to the tech department. They could work miracles with anything digital, and he was hoping they could pull off one of those miracles in this case. The only option that had not played itself out was the old detective on the case that had yet to return Edward's call.

He tried to remain patient on that front, but it was quickly becoming a problem. Anytime he thought about Bella shaking and crying the way she had been after she put down her phone, he had wanted to murder someone. And now the one person who might have a little insight into the case was blowing him off.

Again, he checked the rage. He calmed the fuck down and cooled the fuck off, as Emmett would have put it.

"Detective Edward Cullen?"

Edward looked up from his desk. He was confronted with a huge man, six foot six at least, Native American coloring, hair cut short like a military man. Or a cop.

Edward stood and without a moment of hesitation so did Emmett.

"How can I help you?" Edward inquired.

The man stuck out his hand to shake.

"I'm Jacob Black. You called my house yesterday about the Isabella Swan case. This isn't exactly the kind of case you discuss over the phone, so I came down as soon as I could," he said. Edward extended his own and hand and shook with Jacob Black.

"I have to tell you, Mr. Black, I'm happy you came," he said, gesturing for him to sit down.

"Call me Jake and let's get into this."

Edward, giving a big screw you to protocol, told Jake all about what had been going on with the case, how it had resurfaced and everything that had happened thus far, including the phone call earlier that day. He told him about not having any evidence or leads of any sort and saw that Jake was not in the least surprised. Nor should he have been, really. He had worked the first case, all seven abductions and murders before Bella and her case when it came. He knew the deal.

"I was always afraid this was going to happen," Jake admitted when Edward finished talking.

"Oh?"

"You seem like a smart kid, so you must understand why. He is obsessive. He has thought about nothing but Isabella Swan for the past thirteen years. I am sure he has tried to take his rage and obsession on others, but she has dominated his thoughts for over a decade. And if you don't find a way to stop him before he gets to her, the nine days she spent with him a child will look like daycare comparatively."

Edward looked at him and Jake stared right back. He knew exactly what Jake was saying. He felt it down to his bones that the woman would see more suffering than any one person had ever really experienced in recent history if she wasn't kept safe. Call it intuition or a hunch or anything else, but he knew that. It made him feel sick.

"Is there anything about the case that you could tell us, anything that wasn't in your notes that might be relevant?" Emmett interjected. Leave it to Emmett to keep things on task.

"Well, I had a few ideas about him back in those days that most people didn't want to hear. They all went with a classic profile, white male, incredibly intelligent, probably in a blue collar job, child abuse in the history. But there was one part of that I disagreed with in particular. The man was just _too good_ at keeping himself from being caught. He left no evidence, not on any of the children, not at any of the locations they were captured from. Not even Bella, who had escaped at a most inopportune time, had any physical evidence for us. He was just too damned careful. And it seems from what you've told me that he has kept up with technology and what we the boys in blue can and cannot do."

"You think he's a cop," Edward surmised. Jake nodded slowly.

"A man in a job like this, with a badge, can go anywhere; ask questions of just about anyone. Think how easy it would be to stalk someone, find out anything you want to know about someone as a police officer? You can get their records, find out their address, phone numbers, license plate, any dirty deed on record is at your fingertips, not to mention the resources of a police department, especially one in a big city, like Seattle, or now Boston."

"Fuck me," Emmett said quietly.

"Of course, no one wanted that kind of idea back when the case was at its worst. They all thought it was some psycho, not one of their own. And they had to believe that, you know? They had to stick together, and thinking that one of their comrades was the one torturing and murdering children would have been too much for the whole to grapple with. I couldn't even investigate it. But now…well, assuming your captain is a free thinking kind of man, you might be able to look into it."

"We could check transfer application, from just about anywhere, to Boston in the past seven years years—from when Bella moved here, of officers that were in Seattle at the time," Edward thought out loud.

"Might I also suggest that you check into police officers with expunged juvenile records? The kinds of things that wouldn't show up on a background test at the academy, but might be part of a pattern. You don't jump right from being a regular citizen and a good cop to abducting children and killing them in horrifically painful ways. He was not always so smart or careful, and that might be the way to get him."

"We could also look into other cases with similar MOs," Emmett suggested. "If he tried it beforehand and didn't do things quite as well as he did in Seattle, there might be some record of it, even if it's just a news article. And if you think he tried again, after Bella got away, there might be records of that somewhere as well. It's all a matter of digging in the right places, which has gotten a lot easier with computer databases."

Jake looked at Edward.

"You have a smart partner."

"Don't say that too loud, God knows his ego is big enough as it is," Edward replied. Jake responded with a wolfish grin.

"Shut it, Cullen."

Jake informed Edward that he was going to be staying in a hotel into the city for a little while, and gave him the name of the pace and his cell phone number so he could keep him updated. Edward knew it was against regulations to discuss an ongoing case, but Jacob Black was a smart man, and presented an idea that Edward hadn't thought of yet, and might not have thought of at all. He was grateful for the outside perspective.

When Jake left Edward sat down at his desk and took a long breath to try and let all the new ideas settle.

"That's some heavy shit," Emmett commented, the look on his face about the same as Edward's, unsure and stressed. Edward nodded and said nothing for a moment.

"I'll flip you for who gets to go tell the captain about this."

"You're on," Edward said, pulling a quarter from his pocket, flipping it. It landed in his left hand and he turned in onto the back of his right. "Call it."

"Heads."

Edward looked at the coin and swore.

"Have fun," Emmett practically sang after him, as Edward pocketed the quarter and got up to go have a very awkward conversation.

* * *

Edward's captain had been surprisingly okay with the idea of him and Emmett investigating the idea of it being a police officer behind the attacks. He had given him the go ahead to pull files from the 'to Boston' transfers and said he would give a call to the higher ups in Seattle to smooth any wrinkles. God knew they would be happy to have the case off their city's shoulders and onto somewhere new. It would likely be an easy process instead of the usual turf wars that came with pulling something in any other jurisdiction.

So as soon as he had gotten permission from his CO, he and Emmett set up at their computers, pulling every transfer application to Boston in the past seven years.

There were twelve hundred.

Four hundred of them actually ever ended up being transferred to the city.

Twenty were from Seattle.

But only eight of them had been in Seattle at the time of the original abductions.

Edward wrote down their names and badge numbers in his notebook and then printed their jacket and put them into separate file folders. He then made a call to the district attorney—a charming woman with whom he had a strangely plutonic yet jokingly flirtatious relationship—Tanya Denali, and gave her the general summation of his current predicament.

"Let me get this straight, Edward. You want me to call up some contacts, pull some strings, and see if maybe, on a hunch, one of these law enforcement officers has an expunged juvenile record that shouldn't even exist anymore?" she asked, her voice teasingly sarcastic.

"I think that sounds about right, Tanya. Of course, if you can't do it…" he trailed off. She laughed.

"Oh Edward, your attempts at reverse psychology are adorable. Don't worry, if any of those guys have a record, expunged or otherwise, you'll know about it. It will take me some time, but I'll get it to you," she replied.

"I appreciate it," Edward told her. "Thanks."

"You are welcome as always. But you know, now you really _do_ owe me the drink you've been promising me for the past three years."

"If you get that information to me and it's what I need, I will buy you the whole damn bar."

She laughed again and they said their goodbyes. Emmett looked at Edward with raised eyebrows and Edward nodded. Tanya had been a public defender before she was a criminal attorney. She worked her way all the way to the top, to being the district attorney because she was damn good, and because she knew people, the _right_ people. If Edward needed information his contacts couldn't provide, Tanya always knew someone who could. If she really felt like it he was sure she could make a few calls right now and ask one or two people for the information, but since she was trying to keep the inquiry off the radar, she would have to be discreet.

Edward had learned, through his own mistakes, that discretion took time.

So even though he was dying to know right that instant, he knew he would have to wait and that his patience would be rewarded with the information he sought. He just wished it didn't have to take so damn long.

After he made that call, though, he had other things to look into. Emmett was looking into murder cases in the Seattle area before the time of the string of kidnappings and murders. He was scowling at the screen with that same look he always got when he was concentrating on some menial task.

While Emmett checked cases before the case began, Edward looked into cases that took place after. If Jake was right, and Edward had a gut feeling that he was, about him trying to take out his fixation on someone else and failing, there would be evidence of it. And he also had a hunch that it would be still be in the Seattle area. It was his comfort zone—the only reason he left it was because Bella had left it, and he _had to_ follow her.

So he checked the same databases Emmett was on for cases anywhere from thirteen to seven years ago with anything that might even be a closely related MO. His entire afternoon was spent going through every assault case, every kidnapping, every missing person, every murder case in the Seattle area for an entire six years. He spent hours going through it, occasionally got something that looked interesting which always turned out to be nothing, and soldiered on.

Until he found something not quite so innocuous.

It was a missing person's case from a year after Bella's case had occurred. The person in question being a ten year old boy named Scott Lloyd. He was taken from the park near his house that he played at every day after school when his babysitter wasn't looking. He had been missing for a total of eight days when he was found, wandering the streets, in a very similar fashion to Bella.

But the thing that caught his eye most was when the detectives had talked to him about what had happened—none of them seeing the connection to the other child abductions, Edward realized with a roll of his eyes—he had made mention of being kept in a basement closet very similar to the one Bella had told him about and he had seen in the Polaroid. He also made some interesting remarks about the man trying to hurt him, but not being able to and getting angry.

"Emmett!" he exclaimed when he was done reading, "come look at this."

Emmett got up from his desk and walked over to Edward's. Edward used the mouse to highlight the significant parts of the report. Emmett read quickly and then straightened.

"Well I'll be damned. You need to get this kid on the phone ASA-fucking-P," he said. Edward nodded in emphatic agreement and picked up his phone. He needed to get a hold of this kid, right now. He would be about twenty two now, but even though time went by, he knew some things could not be forgotten.

He made a phone call or two, and after ascertaining the whereabouts of Mr. Scott Lloyd, dialed his number with almost numbing excitement. This could be something, something to break the case, something to help keep Bella out of harm's way.

The phone rang shrilly in his ear and he waited for the other end to pick up. He prayed it would not go to voicemail. He hadn't had a single moment that was as promising as this one. He needed something, anything to keep him going and make him feel like he wasn't treading water in the vast ocean that was this case.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end of the line was that of a young man. Edward almost sighed in happiness.

"Scott Lloyd?" he inquired.

"Yes, this is he. Who is this?" he asked back in his most polite sounding voice.

"Mr. Lloyd, this is Detective Edward Cullen at the Boston Police Department."

"What can I do for you, Detective?" he asked.

"I am investigating a case that occurred about thirteen years ago in Seattle, and in that investigation the case of your kidnapping came up. I was wondering if it would be alright if I asked you a few questions."

"I would rather not talk about that. Everything is in the file and my statement, isn't it?" he asked.

"It is, yes. But in my experience, sometimes people involved in traumatic events remember things differently, or remember more details after the initial report is made. Those details can be integral to a case, Mr. Lloyd," Edward explained. He heard a rather pained pause on the other side of the line.

"Detective, I'm sorry but―"

"The man who abducted you is most likely the man who committed the other string of kidnappings and murders of children in Seattle thirteen years ago, Mr. Lloyd. That man is now after someone else, and what you can tell me, what you can remember might be a clue to finding out who he is and stopping him before he tortures her and murders her. I am asking you to help me save a life, Scott."

There was another pause, this one longer, harder to bear than the first. But he sighed, and there was resignation in it, and Edward knew he had won his argument.

"Ask me anything you like."

The conversation lasted about a half an hour, and when they got off the phone, after much thanks from Edward, he had more information than he could possibly know what to do with all at once.

"Get anything good?" Emmett asked, putting his jacket on. Edward glanced at a clock and realized that it was time to go home for the day. How had a whole day passed already? How had it been so full and eventful and already be done?

"I got a shit ton of new information actually," he commented. Edward realized with amusement that he had begun swearing more now that he was around Emmett so often. "He described the room he was in, said he might be able to give enough of a description of the man who took him. He told me that he was there for a long time without anything happening, but on the last day he was there the man that kidnapped him put him in restraints and tried to cut him with a knife. He made a half an inch incision into his skin before throwing the knife in a rage and screaming about everything being ruined and about some bitch and how he was going to kill her.

"He didn't remember exactly how it happened but he was pretty sure he was knocked out with some sort of chemical and then driven somewhere with a hood over his head. But he remembers it smelled like a compost pile where he was staying, like rotting things, he said."

"So the place was near a transfer station or dump?" Emmett asked.

"Exactly. I'll call over to the Seattle PD and see if they know anything about abandoned buildings near areas of transfer stations or dumps."

"Edward," Emmett said, as he went to pick up the phone. Edward glanced up at him in a cursory way.

"It can wait until tomorrow," he told him.

"They are three hours behind in Seattle, it's only two thirty for them, it's no big deal to put in one phone call."

Emmett, in one of his moments of serious compassion took the phone out of Edward's hand.

"Edward, I understand that this case has got you by the short hairs. After seeing Bella today like she was, I can't blame you. But you need to step back for a moment. I know that's hard for you, but I am serious, you need to just breathe for a minute before you run yourself ragged. It can wait until the morning. You can call them first thing. But you've been working this so hard all day, being so stressed, I can see that you're running on steam here. Don't get yourself pulled from the case because you get too involved, okay?"

Edward looked at him for a moment, and realizing that Emmett was really just saying all that because he was trying to help him made him sigh. He nodded and rose from his chair, getting his own jacket from the back.

They walked out together, parted ways in the parking garage and drove away to separate locations. Emmett, Edward was sure, was going home to Rose.

Edward went to the gym.

Being frustrated made him want to run, just get on a treadmill and run and run and run until he could barely stand to move let alone put that much effort into it. But today hadn't made him frustrated, it had made him livid and terrified.

Being scared and angry made him want to do the same thing.

So he went and found his favorite sparring partner and they practiced beating the shit out of each other in the boxing ring. Edward wasn't the greatest boxer in the world, or even the best in the gym, but he had a mean left hook and he was quick.

When he and his sparring partner left, both a little worse for wear, he felt sufficiently defused and went home to shower and crawl into bed. He wasn't hungry, wasn't in the mood to check his email or watch television, he wanted to get clean and go to sleep so he could stop thinking, about beautiful Bella, her shaking figure, crying eyes, angry scream, heartwarming laugh and unstoppable smile.

His last thoughts before sleep was that Emmett had warned him too late. He was so far into this there was no getting out, not until it was over, whichever way it ended.

If it destroyed him, so be it.


	4. My Favorite Mistake

I.

Detective, well, _ex_-detective Jacob Black was in town. In watching Bella, he saw her go in and out of the police station, talking with those other detectives whom he had judged to be less than a challenge. He was not concerned.

And Jacob Black did not necessarily concern him either, but seeing him brought a flood of memories he did not want.

He had just started work on Bella when there had been a truck at the front of the building. Her tiny screams had been so exciting, so pulse-poundingly arousing he had thought he would have to leave the room to calm down.

But he had just set down his first knife—a nice fillet knife, the one he liked to start with—when the sound of someone in the driveway had echoed through the building. He had to rush, taking her out of the restraints and off the work table, throwing her into the closet place she spent most of her time.

It was that rushing that cost him.

He didn't realize until the man in the truck was gone, a full ten minutes later, that he had not closed and latched the door properly. It had not clicked into its space correctly, and the latched lock had not slid into appropriate place.

And Bella was gone.

He admired her for a moment, the spunk in her he had not expected. He had not thought that a little girl, bleeding, and without her shoes—they were still on the floor of the closet place—would be able to get away as quickly as she did. He followed the droplets and splashes of blood across the floor.

She had climbed up on his tool table, scattering his beautiful instruments across the floor. She had managed to push the window open and wiggle out of it. When he got outside, he saw that she had taken off running. Assuming she had been running for about five minutes, he knew he would need to take the car to catch up to her. He ran to his Buick—no unmarked panel trucks in his possession, it was just so passé—and drove in the direction he was sure she had gone.

But by the time he had caught up with her, she was being scooped up by a police officer, a one Detective Jacob Black. His hands became coated in her blood as he accidentally touched her newly incised wounds. He had been furious. Her blood should not be on this police officer's hands, this pig did not deserve it.

Her blood was for him alone.

He felt the rage boil under his skin as he sat in his car now, watching the ex-detective leaving the police station.

He was willing to temporarily put his plans on hold to deal with this interloper.

II.

The phone rang on a Tuesday afternoon, about a week and a half after the phone call she had gotten from whoever it was that was after her. She had gotten a new cell phone after that, with a new number. Only her family, necessary work contacts and Edward knew that number, and she was planning on keeping it that way until this thing had played out.

Still, when the phone rang, it made her nervous.

When she looked at the phone she sighed in relief. It was Edward. She picked up the phone with a friendly hello.

"Hi Bella, I was just calling to remind you that our plane leaves tomorrow morning at ten, so a patrol car will be by to pick you at around eight. The flight should only take about six hours, so we should be in Seattle around one, local time. Are you packed?"

"Yes; I tried my best not to over-pack, but I am pretty sure there is something about having two x chromosomes that forces you to pack for all occasions, including a natural disaster and an elopement."

Edward laughed. Bella quelled the sunny feeling it gave her hearing him laugh and knowing she had caused that reaction.

"I promise no elopements or natural disasters," he replied with a smile she could hear in his voice. "Is everything else going alright, are you doing okay?"

"Since yesterday when you called?" she asked back.

There was a pause, and Bella could almost feel his chagrin through the phone.

"Considering the things that happen to you on a regular basis, yesterday included, I feel it is my duty as an officer of the law and a protector of the good people of this city to ask," he said back.

"Those groceries, while plummeting down the stairs at breakneck speeds, did not actually injure anyone. And it wouldn't have happened if my building had an elevator. I blame the super."

She heard him laugh again. He had called her the day before right after she had managed to drop her bag of newly bought groceries down every flight of stairs, nearly injuring the old woman on the stairs two flights down. It had been embarrassing to say the least.

She only knew she had been on speakerphone telling that story when she heard Emmett laughing hysterically in the background.

After the hysterics died down, Edward had discussed with her what the phone call had actually been for.

He had followed up on some leads, which had brought him to think he might have found the location she had been held at when she was a child.

"It's been years, Bella. The evidence at the scene was likely negligible at the time, let alone so long after. But it is worth checking out," he had told her. But there was an edge in his voice, like there was something he wasn't saying. So she asked after it, feeling bolder with Edward than she did with anyone else she knew. After a moment, he had answered her, with measured reluctance in her voice.

"I think you should come," he had said.

"Why?"

"Well, for one, if this _is_ the right place, you are one of only two people who are able to say that with any kind of certainty, and the only one who is willing to cooperate. The second thing is that, traumatic as it can be, it would not be the first time being in the right surroundings has jogged someone's memory."

Bella had struggled with the idea of it at first. The thought of being back there, the one place she had promised herself in her worst moments of panic and fear that she would never have to go made her freeze in a cold sweat inducing panic.

"I will be right there with you," Edward had assured her.

"I don't know if I can do that," she had replied quietly.

"I know you can."

It had been those words that had persuaded her. She didn't know how he could be so sure of her, but however it was, it worked. She agreed and they finalized the plans for the flight. They would only be gone three days, Wednesday through Friday. Bella had plenty of vacation time to take it off. Edward had offered to call her office and tell them she was helping with a police investigation, but she refused that offer. She didn't want the people at her office to know about this if they didn't already. She didn't want to be a pity case.

So she had talked to her boss about taking the time off, packed her small carry-on suitcase and now, seated at her desk, talking to Edward on her cell phone on her new number she felt another twinge of panic.

He must have sensed her sudden apprehension because he immediately switched gears.

"You can do this, Bella. I know you can. I have faith in you."

"It's going to take more than just faith," she informed him bitterly.

"In that case I'll buy a bottle of tequila for a little liquid courage," he replied.

Bella laughed and thanked him for the offer.

They went over the plan for the next morning one more time and then hung up. When she put her phone down, Bella took a deep breath.

_I can do this_, she told herself again.

* * *

"Do you actually need a drink?" Edward asked her, as they sat in preparation for takeoff. Bella was gripping the arm rests, breathing deeply.

"I'm not good with flying," she answered. "There is something about giant metal objects being propelled through the sky that make me nervous."

Edward chuckled as they began to taxi slowly. Bella continued to breathe, embarrassed by her ridiculous fear of flying. When they began to pick up speed she closed her eyes, trying to keep the panic down.

As they began to take off, Edward covered her clenched fingers with his own. Bella opened her eyes and looked at him. He was looking straight ahead but he squeezed his hand over hers gently. A wave of calm swept through her. The panic quieted. It amazed her that such a little gesture could make her feel so much safer.

The rest of the flight passed with easy conversation. They talked about things unrelated to the case or why they were going to Seattle. Bella learned that Edward's biological parents had died when he was very young and he had been adopted by the Cullen's at the age of four. Esme, his adopted mother, had taught him to cook. Carlisle, his adopted father, was a doctor. He was the one who encouraged Edward to follow the footsteps of his biological father and become a police officer. It was what he had always wanted and Carlisle, compassionate and understanding as he was, knew Edward wanted a way to feel connected to his biological parents, no matter how much he loved the people who had adopted him.

Bella, in turn, told Edward about her family—her neurotic mother who couldn't keep a hobby to save her life, flitted from job to job, but had managed to remain married to her new husband Phil since Bella was sixteen. And of course, about her father, the well meaning chief of a tiny town in Washington State called Forks.

It was incredible that they managed to fill an entire six hour flight with conversation, but it was so easy to talk to Edward. She felt natural sharing details of her life, telling stories about her past and dreams and aspirations for her future. She had almost forgotten the reason she and Edward were on the plane in the first place.

Until they began to descend.

Bella explained, as Edward looked to her, waiting for her panic, that it was only the taking off that made her nervous. Landing didn't bother her so much. But when she realized they were going to be in Seattle in a matter of minutes, she felt a swell of unease.

Her family had moved from Seattle as soon after the kidnapping as they were able, for obvious reasons. She hadn't returned there since she was nine years old, and hadn't thought she ever would. She looked over at Edward through a sideways glance, and reminded herself that he was going to be there with her. She wouldn't be alone.

They didn't talk much on their way out of the airport. Edward picked up their rented car and they drove to the hotel at which they had reserved rooms. Bella was tellingly quiet through the entire ride. When they arrived Edward checked them in and they went to drop off their things in their rooms. They were right next to each other, Bella in 206, Edward in 208. After they had a few moments to unwind, Edward knocked on her door.

Bella came out to find Edward dressed as she was used to seeing him, and realized that he must have planned to go to the police station. Bella nodded and said nothing. He looked at her, a moderately concerned look in his eyes.

"We aren't going to the warehouse today, Bella. We are going into the police station to talk to the Seattle PD and talk to them about what they have on this lead and get them up to speed on the relevant information from the case. I just assumed you would want to be involved as much as possible. If you would rather stay here and unwind, you can certainly do so," Edward said. Bella heard the detective in him coming out and she shook her head slowly.

"No, Edward, I'm glad you asked me to come along. I asked you to keep me involved; this is what being involved means. I just…I haven't been in Seattle for over a decade. It makes me feel…" she trailed off.

"Like you are that little girl again, back where you started?" Edward finished. Bella nodded. It was like being eight years old again, where all the grownups were asking her questions and not giving her answers and she was afraid to close her eyes in case she would end up back in that closet, or worse, back on that table.

"It's stupid, I know it's stupid, I'm twenty one years old, I graduated college, I'm an editor at a publisher, but when I'm here, it feels like none of that ever happened."

Edward took a step in Bella's direction and took her hands in his.

"Listen to me. You overcame one of the most difficult things any person has ever overcome. And you turned into this strong, beautiful, intelligent, talented, culinary genius of a woman. He did not beat you. _You_ escaped, _you_ survived, _you_ moved on with your life and became successful on your own merits. I will be here, right here, if you need me. But I don't think you do."

Bella got in the car without a problem.

III.

Bella's sudden quiet has unnerved Edward. He realized too late that coming back to Seattle might inspire a kind of fear in her that he had thought would only apply to the warehouse itself. She hadn't been back to the city since she was a child, since the trauma itself. It had become evident in her abrupt silence that something was wrong, and when Edward had realized what it was, he had felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

He was asking the poor girl to relive trauma and he couldn't even keep himself on top of what she was going to need from him when it came to support. He wanted to give the girl a good hug, kiss the top of her head and tell her everything was going to be just fine, but he knew that was, first of all incredibly inappropriate, and second, not necessarily the truth. He didn't think he ever felt like quite so much of a failure as when he saw fear in her eyes and knew he should have been able to keep it away.

But he had managed to recover, to talk to her, to ease her off the shaky platform of fear she had been on. She seemed to have calmed down after he talked to her. They listened to the radio on the way to the police station.

Edward had spoken to the captain of the Seattle PD's MCS, Alice Whitlock when he had called with the inquiry. She had assured him that one of her detectives would put some legwork into the question he had and she would get back to him as soon as she could. It had taken a few days, but she had called him with a very promising lead. There was a transfer station near a sector of old warehouses owned by some machine parts making company that had abandoned them twenty years ago, and hadn't used them for anything since then. There was limited security—basically a chain link fence and a no trespassing sign. It wouldn't be hard, with a pair of bolt cutters, to get in and out of the premises. And since it was in a bad part of town, all old industrial warehouses and processing plants, there were never many people around to keep an eye out for suspicious activity, nor had there been in the times of the murders.

"It gets better. Your witness said it smelled like a compost heap, correct? Well this transfer station was owned and operated by some forward thinking men, who sectioned off a large part of the transfer station to be all natural, decomposable materials. If the kid said he smelled a compost heap, he was probably dead on if he was being held in one of those warehouses. My detectives said they could smell it from half a mile away if they car windows were down."

Edward had almost jumped for joy. Finally, there was something, a tiny something, but still something he could say he had a lead on, something that made him feel like he wasn't spinning his wheels. Emmett had clapped him on the back, told him it was 'damn fine detecting' and Edward went to the captain to ask him for the time he would need to go check it out himself. He also asked permission to bring Bella along.

He was given a green light on both.

He knew why he was being given such leeway—it wasn't because he was some wunderkind detective, it was because no one wanted the case in the city, especially not his squad. If there was anything they could do to get rid of the threat and keep the killer from actually committing a serious crime in their city, Edward knew he would get permission to do it. So going to Seattle on an all expenses paid business trip for he and Bella was not out of the question.

And he was glad she had decided to come. It might be good for her to look at the past directly in the eye and see she could handle it. She might have been scared, but Edward knew she could do it. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for.

The police station in Seattle looked eerily similar to the one Edward went to every day for work. He went to the woman at the front and told her that he and Bella had a meeting with Captain Whitlock. She nodded, picked up her phone to call the captain and after a moment told them to go right upstairs and she would be waiting for them.

He and Bella walked in stiff anticipation, climbing the stairs quickly.

They were shocked when, at the top of the stairs, a tiny woman no more than five feet exactly reached out her hand introduced herself as Captain Alice Whitlock.

"A pleasure," Bella said, shaking her hand. Edward said something along the same lines and filed a thought away to tell Emmett that their Seattle PD comrades were under the command of a woman he could bench-press.

"Well Detective Cullen, where are we?" Captain Whitlock asked, as they. Edward launched into a basic overview of the case, how he had come to suspect the location of the place Bella had been held and thanked her profusely for her help in locating a place that fit the description.

"Believe me, Detective, the Seattle PD will be happy to say it did its part in helping to catch this monster when you bag him."

Edward nodded.

"As I told you, my detectives looked into it and found one specific group of warehouses that fits the bill almost perfectly for what you described," she told him. She reached into the pocket of her slacks and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Upon on it was an address.

"That's the place. We secured the key to the locks on the front gates from the offices that own it. So it should be no problem for you to check it out at any time, just remember to give the key back to us when you're done with it. Obviously, if at any point, you require my assistance or that of my detectives, feel free to give us a call."

She and Edward shook hands again. Before he and could leave, Captain Whitlock called after Bella by name.

Bella turned around and the captain, what a little woman she was, all dark pixie hair and startlingly blue eyes was looking right back.

"I remember your case. I was just getting on the force, working vice. I had nothing to do with your case, but I remember it. I heard stories about you, this tiny little eight year old girl, scared to shit but a fighter. I remember thinking you were brave. I can see now that I was right."

"Thank you, Captain Whitlock," Bella said quietly, not out of shyness, Edward thought, more out of an inability to speak.

"You don't need to thank me. I wasn't stroking your ego or bullshitting you with some sort of psychology to make you more likely to help in the investigation. I was just telling you the truth."

Bella nodded, a little fire back in her eyes. Edward was happy to see it.

He and Bella left then, in silence once more. But it wasn't the same kind of scared uncomfortable silence as earlier. It was more relaxed, calm, like a storm had finally passed. Edward watched Bella as they drove back to the hotel and saw her face had returned to its normal color, she didn't look shaken or tense. She looked like the Bella Edward was used to seeing. Apart from when she had received that one phone call, even when scared she had always seemed so much more sure of herself.

So when she smiled at a song on the radio and moved in her lips along with the words Edward felt happy. When later that night she suggested they eat their Chinese take-out in her room and watch lifetime movies together, he felt ecstatic.

They sat at the small faux-wood table in her room, watching _Seventeen and a Mom_, possibly the worst movie Edward had ever seen. But with Bella making hilarious commentary about the poor character acting and awful plot line between bites of her General Tso's chicken, he hardly noticed. He couldn't remember the last time he had just relaxed, let his guard down and just spent some time with someone without constantly being on the alert, without putting up some kind of wall. He sat there, munching on sweet and sour pork and laughing at Bella's jokes.

When the movie ended Edward collected the empty take-out containers and put them into the large brown bag they had all come in, fishing out the fortune cookies and tossing them on the table before throwing the trash in the large garbage in the hall outside.

When he got back inside they opened the cookies. Edward popped half into his mouth as he read his fortune.

_Respect your elders._

He wasn't about to tell Emmett about that. But he read it out loud to Bella, who frowned.

"That isn't very exciting, Edward," she teased.

"Well what does yours say?"

"You would make a great lawyer," she read. Her frown deepened. "Mine is even worse. I take back my teasing."

"Forgiven," Edward chuckled. They stood for a moment, in an unsure quiet.

"I was thinking of heading over to the warehouse tomorrow after breakfast. Is that agreeable?"

"Sure, I like some repressed trauma after breakfast. Its how I try to start every day," she answered. There was a sour edge to her voice, but it was not angry or scared. But Edward didn't want to try and be too serious and ruin the good mood she had been in before.

"Glad to hear it. I'll see you in the morning, Bella."

They said goodnight and Edward left her room to go to his, right next door.

He hardly slept. He tossed and turned, slipping in and out of consciousness, never for long enough to feel like he was getting any rest. He kept thinking about the next day, worrying after Bella, wondering if she was sleeping any better, and how she would fare the next day.

He worried after her, he realized her, a lot more than he had ever worried about anyone.

The next morning they got up around nine, went to a Dunkin Donuts for breakfast and then, key and address in hand, started the drive toward the warehousing district.

He could see Bella getting more and more tense as the miles passed on. He could see it in her face and hear it in her voice, as it seemed to wind up and tighten. When they arrived outside the collection of grey buildings, Edward stopped the car almost reluctantly.

They both got out of the car, doors closing with an ominous click, locked behind them. Edward went to the chain link fence, with a large menacing looking padlock strung upon it. He inserted the key into the lock, felt it tumble and pulled it off, prying the fence open enough for a person to squeeze between.

"Are you ready?" he asked. Bella nodded. She looked calm, fear swallowed down. Edward stepped through the fence first and held it open for Bella. Once she was through he closed and locked it from the inside.

"Which one of these is supposed to be the one?" she asked, looking at all the buildings, which he could tell she thought looked all the same. And mostly, they did look too similar to really tell apart. But Edward had spoken to Captain Whitlock's detectives before he retrieved Bella that morning, and they said the building closest to the transfer station, with the easiest route to the road was at the far left corner of the fenced in lot. When Edward asked how the hell a little girl would have been able to climb a chain link fence, they told him that the part of the fence that would have been in need of climbing had been hit by a delivery truck during the time of the abductions and wasn't replaced until six months after Bella was found. So it was to the back left corner they went.

The building they were looking for stood on its own, with at least six yards of free space in every direction. There were weeds growing up through the pavement all around it, broken boarded up windows on every level of the building. Whatever its purpose had been, it had not been used for a very long time. They walked around the outside of the building, not speaking. There was nothing outside for him or Bella to pick up on. It was, location wise, very convenient for the way her escape had occurred as far as she was able to describe it. But other than its perfect fit into a story she herself wasn't really very good at remembering, there was nothing on the exterior of the building.

They paused at the door.

Bella was the one who opened it.

They took the first steps together, and the second. She didn't leave his side as they passed through the threshold, as they slowly went through every inch of the first floor of the building. There were no side rooms with heavy doors and latches to keep it closed.

However, there was a heavy door that led to a set of cement stairs that disappeared into darkness.

Edward looked to Bella, who swallowed hard. He reached to his belt and pulled out his small LED flashlight.

"You are like Swiss army Edward," she said, trying to force a joke out of her mouth. But her tone was all wrong. It was strained. He opened his mouth to reassure her again but instead of needing his words she took his free hand and squeezed tightly. He squeezed back.

The stairs were cement, sturdy and untouched by time. Their steps sounded dull and shuffling as they descended, Edward's flashlight cutting a section into the dark. When the stepped off the last stair onto the solid concrete floor, Edward shine his flashlight to the surrounding walls and found a small light switch. He did not let go of Bella's hand to reach over and flip it on.

The room was bathed in spotty, uninformed florescent light but poorly lit as it was Edward felt Bella stiffen.

"I'm right here, Bella," he told her again, squeezing her hand in his once more. She nodded silently.

She was the one who took the first step, further into the room, more into the light. She looked around slowly, eyes scanning right to left. He watched as her gaze moved over the room and saw when it stopped on a door all the way in the back left corner. He wanted to take it slowly, but she rushed across the room, dragging him with her, almost pulling his arm out of the socket. He didn't know where the sudden urgency came from, but he wasn't going to waste time asking her about it. He would just follow her lead for as long as wanted to be taking the first steps.

She threw open the door, which had been partly ajar and stared into the small space for a long moment. After her pause she let go of Edward's hand and he watched her as she stepped into the closet-like room. She reached out to the wall and touched the tips of her fingers against the cement, immediately pulling them back like she had been burned.

"There is still adhesive on the walls from where he put up the pictures. All those pictures…of the other children, he hung them up in here, with me. I remember this place," she said quietly.

"Bella," he said quietly. She kept her back to him as though she hadn't heard him.

"I bled in this room. So did the others, I imagine. I'm sure he washed it away, but it was here. I know it was here."

"How do you know?" Edward asked quietly.

Then she did turn back around. There were tears in her eyes, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I can feel it. Bad things happened here, Edward. Bad things happened to seven other children and bad things happened to me. Just trust me."

"I trust you, Bella, I do. If you say it was here, I believe you."

He wasn't just trying to make her feel better. This would be a perfect location for the work the perp did, it fit in with the other identifying details provided by the investigation both he and the Seattle detectives did, and if Bella said she could feel this was right, he wasn't about to question her. He knew what it was like to just feel the answer, to know in your gut what was what. She was the one who had been kept here, if she said this was the place, then this was it.

Edward knew he was going to have to make some calls to get people to come to where they were, so he suggested that he and Bella go outside so he could do so. She paused a moment, staring back into the closet, at the heavy door with a latch up at the top that would lock immediately. She looked at it the way someone would look at a car accident, a mix of horror and curiosity. Eventually he had to gently put his hand on her arm to pull her out of her trance. She started a little at his touch, but when her eyes met his she instantly relaxed.

He let her lean on him as they went back up the stairs and out of the building. The echoing of their steps didn't seem so ominous now, only strange and unwelcome. When they got outside and breathed air that hadn't been locked in an old building for so long Edward felt like his heart was beating harder and he could feel his blood rushing through his veins. It was as though he had been vacuum sealed in that warehouse, like he had stopped just like time.

They walked back to the car without speaking and Edward realized that since coming to Seattle, they had spent more of their time in silence than they had speaking. He made a mental note to himself that before they left Seattle they would go out and do something non case related, almost like their movie and Chinese food marathon the night before. When they arrived at the rental car, Bella sat in the passenger seat with the door open, and Edward leaned against the car, and called the Seattle PD. After a short conversation with Captain Whitlock she agreed to call up their forensics team and send them right out to look at the basement of the warehouse, on the slim chance there was anything to pick up after all the time that had gone by. Edward agreed to stay and wait for them and her detectives, whom she was also sending out.

"Not as some sort of bullshit turf war or anything, Edward. I just think it would be good to keep everyone who is involved here up to date," she assured him. He didn't argue with her on it. Once he hung up, informed he would have to wait about a half hour, he put the phone back in his pocket and went to talk to Bella.

When he looked at her, she still had a strange empty look on her face. She was so distracted she didn't realize he was looking at her. He called her name three times before she heard him.

"Bella, I just spoke to Captain Whitlock. She is sending her detectives over as well as a forensics team. It is going to be a while before they get here, and they will take quite a while to comb through the warehouse once they get here. If you want, I can call you a cab back to the hotel and you can stay there and I'll call you if they find anything."

She looked at him with bewilderment until he talked about sending her away.

"No, I'm not going anywhere, Edward. I am seeing this through until it's over. I am done being a victim."

Edward didn't say anything, but he nodded.

"Thank you, for bringing me here. I was so afraid of coming back, of having to come here and face this again. But I'm glad I did. I'm so tired of all of this, so tired of being scared. But I feel strong being a part of something that is going to put him away."

"You're welcome," was all he could think to say. Bella got up out of the car and took the step between them and hugged him. He heard her thank him again.

He couldn't speak, so he just put his arms around her and embraced her back. He didn't know how a simple hug could make all of his internal organs feel like they were rearranging themselves, but his stomach flipped just like it did when he had his first crush in high school. It was totally inappropriate and he knew he should squash down the way he was feeling, but he wasn't sure he could, even if he tried.

"Edward?" her tiny voice asked, not letting go of him.

"Yes Bella?"

"All of this is really scary and weird and it makes me feel awful half the time. But even with all that, I'm glad I met you."

Edward leaned away from her and looked down into her face for a moment.

His body screamed, _kiss her_.

His mind screamed, _don't you dare_.

"I'm glad I met you too," he answered, falling somewhere in-between what he wanted to do and what he knew should be the proper interactions between them. She smiled and there was something victorious in her expression, like she had won something. She seemed pleased with herself, confident and comfortable in a way he hadn't ever noticed before. Did facing her past really change so much in so little time?

But he thought about it, and reasoned with himself that perhaps, after all the time she had spent living in fear of the entire world, not sure who had taken her and so not sure who to trust, visibly suspect of everyone around her until they had earned her difficult to ascertain trust, going back to the place that had instilled such fear in her, knowing she had survived and that she had lived might make her feel stronger. He had always seen the strength in her, but he didn't know if _she_ ever had, until she had walked into the tiny basement closet and walked back out again without breaking.

They waited together in the car making easy conversation until the detectives and the forensics team arrived. The detectives—Jessica Stanley and Tyler Crowley—showed up first and introduced themselves. They went back to the warehouse immediately to make sure nothing was disturbed until the forensics team arrived. Edward was sure that they really just didn't like the idea of being overshadowed by a BPD detective in front of their own forensics people, but he didn't argue with their decision to go.

The forensics people showed up not long after, two large vans filled with twelve forensic specialists. Most of them brushed past Edward and Bella and went right back to the warehouse to get right to work. One man stopped, a tall blond gentleman whose twang revealed him to be mildly southern when he introduced himself.

"I'm Jasper Whitlock, the head forensics investigator. You must be Detective Cullen and Ms. Swan," he said, reaching his hand out to shake with the both of them.

"Whitlock? Is Alice Whitlock…" Edward trailed off.

"My wife? Yes."

"That must make for some interesting interdepartmental feuds."

"Sometimes," Whitlock laughed, "mostly we try to keep things as professional as possible. I just wanted to assure the both of you that my team and I are going to do everything we possibly can to help you catch your man. If there is something there, we'll find it."

Edward nodded in thanks before watching him follow the rest of his team off to the warehouse.

"Well, I think there is only one thing left to do," Bella said quietly.

"What is that?"

"Get lunch," she said. Edward was just too surprised to laugh.

* * *

Edward and Bella sat on the trunk of the rental car eating sandwiches they had gotten from a deli down the street. Edward had offered to take Bella down to the warehouse after they ate, but she politely declined. She said she didn't want to get in the way of forensics guys. Edward was glad she made that choice. He thought it was better that after going into the warehouse once, they avoid it altogether unless it was absolutely necessary to go back into it.

So they ate at a leisurely pace, sipping on ice teas, talking about the crappy Seattle weather. The sun hadn't broken out in the two days they had been there and Bella admitted that she remembered more rain and clouds than sunny days when she was a child.

Idle chat was enough to fill the time they sat together, waiting for some news. They got it three hours later, once forensics was done sweeping the warehouse.

As most of them filed into the vans, buzzing about what they had found, evidence and equipment in hand, Whitlock came to them, handing off his black bag of equipment to someone else who walked past Edward and Bella.

"Well, as I am sure you expected, we didn't find much. The entire basement was bleached, so if there was blood on any surface, which we imagine with that degree of cleaning there must have been its gone now. However, there was evidence of some kind of adhesive substance on the walls on the small closet in the basement, like glue or tape, which we will catalogue. And there was also a long, dark brown hair caught in part of the window frame, likely from when you climbed through it, Ms. Swan."

"Is that it?" Edward asked. He had known there wouldn't be much, but of course he had held out one flicker of hope that there would be something more substantial. Whitlock smiled broadly and shook his head.

"We found a handprint on the closet door. He must have wiped down the handle and the latch, but skipped over the door itself. Once we analyze the print, we can put it in the system. If his prints are in the system, we'll find him."

Edward's jaw dropped.

"You're serious?"

"Completely. I'll do the print analysis myself and I'll call you first if I find anything out."

Edward wanted to hug the man, but he settled for a very enthusiastic handshake.

As he and Bella were driving back to the hotel, they were talking in excitement.

"Don't get me wrong, I couldn't be happier to have found such great evidence, but I don't see how it happened. Someone so meticulous would be careful enough to remember where he touched on the door with his bare hands and wipe that down."

"He was rushing," Bella said. Her voice was soft and when he glanced at her, she was looking out the window. "It was the night I escaped, I'm sure. Someone was there, at the warehouse, and he wasn't expecting it, so he was rushing, to make everything look normal and get me to a place I couldn't get away. He must have just pushed the door closed with his hand. After he abducted that boy and got rid of him he must have been desperate to scrub the place down in case the boy could identify it. He is human—he just made a mistake."

"Well, his mistake is our good luck," Edward said, feeling triumphant. They continued to talk as they drove. They had just pulled into the parking lot at the hotel when Edward's phone rang. The number from Emmett's work phone showed on his caller ID.

"Hey Emmett, what can I do for you?" he answered.

"Edward," Emmett replied. Edward could tell in that one word that something bad had happened. He didn't know what, but if it was bad enough that Emmett didn't wait for him to get back to hear it, Edward was almost afraid to find out.

"What is it?" Bella asked, noticing Edward's change in expression. He shrugged waiting for Emmett to continue.

"Edward, Jacob Black was murdered."


	5. Woman King

**Hey guys, sorry this took me so long to get out. Life has been super crazy lately, but I hope you like this chapter. Enjoy!**

I.

It was elegant. It was simple. It hadn't been exactly easy, but he had been through more difficult things. It had taken chloroform and a serious beating in which Mr. Black was on the receiving end, but he had taken him down eventually. Black was bigger than him, taller by at least four inches and solid like a man who worked his body hard every day of the week.

For a man who seemed to keep his body so well prepared, he had been too easy to trace. He checked into the hotel using a credit card and his own name. It hadn't been difficult to follow him to his room, and when the moment was right, beat the shit out of him, knock him out and go to work.

It wasn't complicated work like he usually did; in fact, he didn't even wait until the old detective was awake to do the work. It was just one single slice across his throat, cutting deep enough to sever the artery and it was done. He didn't feel like leaving any sort of clue that this was anything but a random murder, so on his way out, he tossed the room pretty thoroughly and stole the money and credit cards out of Black's wallet. It would look like some sort of robbery gone badly.

He knew Bella would be gone until at least the next day and so he went back to his apartment and made dinner in a strange restlessness. He was eager to move on with the plan, to keep it going as soon as possible. Being stalled as he was made him fidget.

He ate in silence, staring at a single Polaroid of Bella when she was a little girl.

It both calmed and stirred him and he smiled. Soon he would have her and be done with this, he could finally be released from the prison he was being kept in by the sheer fact of her continued living and go on with his life.

Soon soon soon.

II.

Bella felt her stomach drop to her feet when Edward repeated the news to her. Jacob Black had been the detective to find her after she escaped. He wasn't a face she had known as a child, but she had come to recognize it after he had rescued her. He still called her every year on her birthday.

Edward kept talking, faster and quieter than before, to Emmett on the other end of the line. Bella couldn't breathe. From the part of Edward's conversation that she could hear it was supposedly a robbery in his hotel room gone bad. It looked like there had been a struggle and the credit cards and money in his wallet were missing. But Bella knew it was all wrong. There was no robbery. It might have looked like one, but that was all a ruse. There was no way that the detective connected with her case just so happened to be murdered in the commission of a felony at the same time as her case was coming back into the forefront.

She didn't ever think there would be any casualties beside herself; she never thought for a single moment that anyone else would get hurt. Because she had been told a thousand times, both by herself and Edward and Jacob that _she_ was the one that this psycho was after it hadn't even occurred to her that to get to her, he might hurt someone else.

If Jacob Black, the detective who had worked the case over a decade ago had been in danger of the killer, that meant everyone around her was in danger as well. The thought made her stomach roil violently. She opened the car door and was sick on the pavement beside the car. She heard Edward swear and out down the phone as he leaned over and started rubbing her back. He didn't say anything to her, just smoothed circles into her back with his hands. When she was done throwing up she sat up and he handed her a wad of napkins and a bottle of water. She smiled in thanks and wiped her mouth before swishing water around her mouth to get the taste of vomit out of it.

"Are you alright, Bella?" he asked. She shook her head slowly.

"No, I am not alright. Someone who…protected me, searched for me, helped me is dead. And I think we both know who it was that killed him."

"There is no evidence of that," he stated simply. But it was a lie. His voice was too even, too exacting.

"Don't lie to me," she retorted.

"I'm not lying. I am telling you there is not at the current time, any evidence that it was anything other than exactly what it looks like. That being said, I don't think you are wrong. If our man was smart enough to get away with what he got away with thirteen years ago, he is smart enough to stage a scene for a crime."

"What did he ever do to deserve this?" she asked quietly, desperately.

"He got in the way," Edward answered. After a moment Edward suggested that they go inside to their rooms and that Bella relax. Maybe take a shower and Edward would come get her if there was any news or anything important. She reluctantly agreed, terrified to be alone and simultaneously craving some time to grieve by herself. She immediately fled to the shower and turned the water up as hot as she could stand it and got in, sitting down in the tub and letting the water splash over her steadily. She began to cry in fear and grief and she didn't stop until she couldn't take the stifling steam of the shower or its raging heat.

Her tears dried as she toweled herself off. She changed into clean clothes and sat on her bed for a long while, not moving, trying not to think too much on any of the things that worried her. Eventually there was a knock on the door and Edward entered at her say so.

"Bella?"

She turned toward his voice as the door opened and closed around him. He came and sat next to her on the edge of her hotel bed and didn't say anything for a long moment.

"They are going to put a rush on the autopsy," he announced eventually. "The hotel room was trashed, but with that amount of damage you would think there would be physical evidence of it—scuff marks of the floor, blood from breaking glass—but there's nothing. Emmett agrees with us on who it probably was who committed the murder. Something just felt off at the crime scene and he didn't want to say so in front of the other detectives, but he's with us one hundred percent on who the doer is."

Bella nodded without words.

"Bella, look at me."

She did as he asked, slowly, the muscles in her body responding with a lethargy that had come on suddenly.

"I'm so tired of all of this," she said quietly.

"I know you are, I know. But we are going to head back tomorrow morning, and then we can sort everything out there. The autopsy should happen tonight and we can get the results back when we get home. We are going to figure this out. We have some promising evidence and some interesting leads and I think that maybe―"

"Maybe what, Edward? Maybe you'll figure out who it is after he's killed me? Maybe he'll kill you and Emmett before he gets to me? Maybe I'll end up in protective custody until people decide it's useless and then I'll be alone and he'll find me like always does?"

"I won't let that happen."

"You _can't_ know that. You can't know that nothing will happen to you. You can't know that things won't end badly."

There was a moment of silence.

"Is that what this is about? You're worried about me?" he asked. His voice was soft, but his tone was incredulous.

"Is that so stupid?" she asked defensively. Someone who had protected her in the past was dead, was it so ridiculous to think that someone who was protecting her in the present might be on a list of people 'in the way', as Edward had put it?

"It's not stupid at all. I just have to wonder how it is a woman who is being hunted by a serial killing psychopath has time to worry about anyone else," he mused. She shrugged absently. "I can understand why you would be worried. But I have spent years as a police officer. I know how to look out for myself and make sure nothing happens."

"Jacob Black was a police officer and he still got killed."

"Jake didn't know that he was even in danger. I do. So does Emmett. I'll be careful. We'll both be careful. We will be okay."

Bella put her face down in her hands for a long moment.

"I hope you're right," she said quietly. She looked up from her hands, her eyes rimmed with red from her crying, welling with tears she kept trying to blink away. "I really hope you're right."

III.

The flight back to Boston seemed to take forever compared to the flight out to Seattle. Where there had been easy conversation on the flight west, going home was filled with strained silence. Bella was so stressed. He could see it in the tension in her shoulders and they way she started each time he said her name. She was going to explode if she didn't relax.

But Edward didn't exactly blame her. People in her life had now started becoming targets of a serial murderer. He couldn't fault her for feeling some stress.

He and Emmett had spoken more on the phone after he had talked to Bella for a while. When he was sure she wasn't going to have a breakdown and she was content with the take out and Law and Order reruns, he went back to his room and called Emmett again. They had agreed to put a trace on the credit cards just in case they were used again. _Hell_, Edward thought, _if the motherfucker is that smart he might use them just to distract us_. But somehow that felt wrong. He took care of Jake because he was in the way, a threat to his status quo. Either he didn't know about Emmett and Edward, or he wasn't concerned about them. S_tupid son of a bitch, he should be concerned_.

Bella did bring up a good point that night however. If things became severe enough, they would put her in protective custody, but that only lasted so long. It was expensive to maintain, took police officers from their usual jobs and was a general hassle if there wasn't immediate danger. Eventually her protection would be pulled. Eventually, if the psycho waited long enough, he and Emmett would be put on other cases and there would be no one to look after Bella.

It caused a knot in his stomach when he thought of her alone. She was as careful as a civilian could be, but she couldn't have eyes in the back of her head or police training to know when things were wrong. It wouldn't be her fault that she was a little too distracted walking down the street, or was too slow getting the keys to her apartment building. She handled everyday danger with as much grace as was manageable for her clumsy little body, but a threat like this was not some mugger you could scare off by walking into a convenient store. This man plotted and watched and was damn well informed if he knew so quickly of Jake's presence in the city.

The suspicion that the perp was a cop surfaced again in Edward's mind and it felt more right every time he thought about it. They were too careful, too detail oriented. They knew exactly how to trash a room and what to do to make it look like a robbery when he killed Jake. He knew exactly how not to leave forensic evidence except for—God willing—the handprint on the door from the warehouse. He knew how to watch people, how to learn their habits and how not to get caught doing it. He was too damn smart, too damn trained and too damn familiar with police procedure for it to be a coincidence.

"The bastard is a cop," he had said out loud. It felt right. It rang with a strange truth that he had learned to attribute to a gut feeling that had not as of yet led him astray.

So he thought over evidence—what little they had—and Bella's statements and tried to piece it together. What he was really waiting for now were the handprint analysis and Tanya's information on the police officers he had given her the names of to hopefully get one with a juvie record.

After they got off the plane and made it outside the airport Edward was trying to think of what the next step should be. It was four thirty in Boston, which meant he had just enough time to catch Emmett before he went home and force him into going to see the coroner to get the results of the autopsy.

"Bella," he started but when she turned to look at him he saw her empty eyes and his words failed him utterly. Instead he put down his back and closed the space between them, enveloping her in a hug. He felt her surprise and then her acquiescence as she dropped her bag and embraced him in return.

"I am going to make you safe again," he mumbled into her hair. God, she smelled like strawberries and freesia and home. He pulled her a little tighter without meaning to and she responded in kind.

"Okay, Superman," she replied into his chest. There was another one of those moments where everything felt right, when the gut feeling came back and it told him that right there, with her in his arms was exactly where he belonged. But he shoved it away. Maybe when the case was over, when he had the guy behind bars, extradited back to Washington to be put on death row, maybe then he could think about Bella as woman and not a case.

He tried to tell himself that he didn't think of her as a woman right then, when he was holding her, probably longer than he should have. But she didn't move so he didn't either, at least not for another long moment. But time was of the essence in his job, it always was, and as much as he would have loved to stay just like that for the rest of the day, he had things he had to do. The only redeeming thing was that the things he was doing were for her.

He withdrew reluctantly from her hold. She looked up at him and the emptiness that had been in her eyes was replaced with a glazed over confused look, somewhere between bewilderment and shock and contentment.

"If I hear anything―" he began.

"You'll call me, I know," she finished. "Do you think…do you think even if you don't hear anything you could call me? It's just that no one else knows about this, I haven't even told my parents because I know it would only make them worry and I just…sometimes I just need to talk to someone who understands."

"Of course," he answered, without really thinking of whether it was right or wrong. So often lately he was questioning right and wrong less and less and just doing what he felt. It was strange but liberating. It was no coincidence, he was sure, that the things he was doing mostly had to do with Bella. Again without thinking he leaned in the short distance and kissed her forehead. Without looking at her reaction he stepped away from her and picked up her bag and brought it to the patrol car that was going to bring her home. He opened the door for her and she slowly walked over to it and slid into the seat. They didn't say goodbye before she closed the door and the car pulled away.

The station was a short train ride from where he was, so he hopped on the T and rode it in quiet contemplation. He had stepped over the line right then. No, he hadn't just stepped, he had catapulted over the line. But thought his mind was reeling and trying to think over the past three minutes over and over, Edward switched into detective mode and started thinking facts and evidence not emotions and uncertainty.

So when he got to the station house he walked right up the stairs to his desk, put his bag down loudly. Emmett didn't even look up.

"Welcome home, asshole. You've been on vacation with the little lady while I've been handling a fucking shitshow. The media got a hold of Black's murder and seeing as he is a fucking hero cop, not just with his work with Bella, but a whole other load of stuff, they are making a huge goddamn deal out of the investigation of his murder, which we can be sure will eventually lead to Bella's case because the two are linked as sure as shit. Which means Bella is going to get tossed into the limelight, ready or not," Emmett announced to him, at first sounding a little self-righteous but his voice ended on a sour note. He didn't want Bella to be forced into a media feeding frenzy any more than Edward did. He was just as fond of her as he was, albeit in a different way.

A string of profanity left Edward's mouth under his breath.

"Amen, brother; the only positive thing I can think of to her being subjected to such a thing is if she is surrounded by media hounds it might be more difficult for our dear sweet psycho to get a hold of her. Thank God for small favors and all that."

"I should warn her about it," Edward said reaching for his phone. Emmett shot him a look.

"There is nothing to warn her about, at least not now. The coroner just finished with the autopsy a few hours ago, and I've been waiting on your tardy ass to get here so we could go see what she found."

Edward didn't say anything as he and Emmett simultaneously made their way out to the front. The morgue was a three block walk from the station house, and Edward, who had cursed it on many a cold New England day, was happy to have some time to breathe fresh air and think for once. They made it the office of the coroner in a few minutes and went right past her receptionist, who did say anything about it. She was used to them not knocking and waiting.

When they opened the door the coroner, a strangely cheerful redhead named Victoria greeted them with a somber smile. She said nothing, just grabbed her white lab jacket and slipped it on as they passed through the back door in her office and down the stairs that lay behind it. They entered the morgue and the smell of cold and death entered Edward's nose immediately. It used to make him sick but now him stomach only a shook a little before settling. They crossed the large open, fluorescently lit room to the only body on a slab. When she pulled back the sheet it was indeed Jacob Black. She pulled the clipboard from the foot of the slab and flipped past the first few pages.

"This guy was supposed to have been murdered in a robbery where there was struggle, correct?" she asked, scanning her report. Emmett answered in the affirmative. Edward said nothing.

"Well, my problem with that scenario is that there are no defensive wounds. He took a beating, that is for sure, but there aren't any marks on his hands or arms from where he would have attempted to defend himself. And a man like this, built as solidly as he is and an ex cop to boot would know a little about defending himself. That was strange enough alone, but with what I found in his mouth; there is something very wrong with his supposed cause of death.

"When I got him in the morgue his mouth was open, and for whatever reason, luck or whatever it was, I just so happened to see something on the inside of his lip. There was a cotton fiber there in his mouth, like what one might find in a towel or dishcloth. Obviously, none of this if official until the fiber is tested, but coupled with the lack of defensive wounds, it is possible that Detective Black was drugged, beaten and then had his throat cut."

"How sure are you?" Edward asked.

"About the drugging? Let's just say I have a very strong hunch. He was definitely beaten before he was killed because you can see here and here," she pointed out ugly looking contusions on his torso, "he was already beginning to bruise by the time he was killed. It doesn't fit for a man in his shape, of his background to just take a beating and not even try to ward off an attacker unless he was drugged, or had some very pressing reason not to."

Victoria covered Jake back up and Edward said a silent prayer for him before he and Emmett left the morgue.

"When the test comes back on that fiber all hell is going to break loose," Edward said with a quiet groan. Emmett nodded, but kept silent as they walked back to the station house. When they were back at their respective desks Edward put his things on the floor and sat in his chair for a moment.

"Edward?"

Edward looked up from his thoughts and saw Emmett was sitting with an expression that mirrored his own.

"One of us should warn the captain about where this is heading," he said. Edward nodded.

"Flip you for it?"

Emmett took out a coin and tossed it into the air. He called heads and Edward called tails. It was heads. Edward smirked.

"Sucker."

"Shove it, Eddy."

* * *

When the lab finished processing the fiber a week later, the news caught hold of the information almost as soon as Emmett and Edward did. The fiber was positive for traces of chloroform, so it became obvious to everyone who didn't already suspect it that Jacob Black, the decorated ex-detective and whose jacket was as impressive as Edward's father's, was murdered for some reason other than just a robbery. As soon as Edward knew he called Bella to tell her the news and also to warn her that if the press made the connection, she might be targeted. She didn't say much, but he could tell it made her uneasy. But he didn't have time to console her the way he wanted to. Emmett was snapping his fingers and pointing to the captain's office. So he reluctantly ended their call and follow Emmett.

However, when they entered the office they were met with a face they did not expect.

"Tanya, it's good to see you," Emmett said politely. She nodded and looked right at Edward with a file in her hand.

"I never found this. You've never seen it. It doesn't exist. Don't ask where I found it, don't ask about the connection I have because I won't tell you anything. You have ten minutes to look over this file before I have to burn it and pretend I never even knew about it," she said quickly, handing it over to Edward and Emmett. They put it on the desk between them and read quickly.

Detective James Alistair, who was just a uniformed officer back in Seattle during the time of the abductions had moved to Boston five years prior and been promoted to detective for his work in the vice unit. He had a good record, only two complaints against him and they were both dismissed. Edward read through this with limited interest. He knew it all already.

It was what was on the next pages that interested in.

When he was a teenager he was arrested for animal cruelty when he was found by a neighbor to be torturing a cat. In his backyard they found the skeletons of two other animals in garbage bags that had been dead for months. The judge was lenient on him and gave him counseling and community service that he served picking up trash and painting over graffiti. The record was expunged when he turned eighteen and destroyed enough that when he applied to the training academy it didn't come up in his background check. Edward however was well aware that many serial killers started off killing small animals in their adolescence before they graduated to killing actual human beings.

Edward stared at the picture in the file. His non-descript features stared back.

He and Emmett handed the file back after a moment.

"If I were you boys I would proceed with caution. The media is going to have a field day with the Black murder, be careful you don't stir up too much trouble around another cop before you are certain," Tanya warned them before she left.

"If that handprint was his we should know any day now," Edward said. "He is in the system."

"I'm going to go do some more background on Detective Alistair. Why don't you go see Bella?" Emmett suggested.

"Emmett," Edward warned. Emmett raised his eyebrows.

"What, pretty boy, you think that tone is going to scare me? Come on, you like this girl. Try to tell me you don't with a straight face, I dare you. She is sweet and a damn good cook, and pretty as all get out and I see the way you look at her and hear the way you talk about her. I know she's your case, but she's also a woman. You like her, so go see her. You might just get past your own thick headedness enough to see that she likes you, too."

"It is totally―"

"Unprofessional? Inappropriate? Who the fuck cares, comrade? The girl has a psycho killer after her, you've been spending all your time with her, if you didn't have a thing for her I would think you were insane. You wouldn't be the first to do it, and I know you won't be the last. You both deserve a little happiness, so why don't you stop beating yourself up with your code of ethics and just go get her? The world will still be broken in the morning, and you'll have a whole other day to fuck things up and try to fix yesterday's mistakes. So stop getting in your own way and hers and man up about how you feel about her."

Edward opened his mouth and then closed it.

"You are one persuasive son of a bitch, Emmett McCarty," he finally said.

"You're damn right. Now get the fuck out of here."

Edward grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and with a nervous smile, practically ran out the door. Emmett was right. It was stupid to sit and think of all the ways it was wrong and just think of how it was right. And he did like her. He had liked her from the moment he saw her standing at his desk. And he only grew to like her more as he watched her strength, her resilience, her sense of humor, beauty, optimism, altruism, the utter brilliance that shone from the very core of her even in the darkest places.

So he got out on the street and walked quickly to the train and hooped on it, taking it to the stop right near Bella's apartment building. He felt his heart racing in the most pleasant way as he walked the few blocks to her building. He got in the building and buzzed up to her apartment.

"Who is it?" her voice asked, crackling through the intercom. Edward pressed the speak button and announced himself. She didn't reply, only buzzed him in. He bounded up the stairs. A few moments later he knocked on her door and waiting, bouncing from foot to foot.

When she opened the door she was still in her work clothes, a well fit pencil skirt that made his mind glaze over and some rose colored blouse but her hair was falling out of whatever she had put it into and she looked disheveled but gorgeous in way he couldn't describe.

How had he missed it before? She was so beautiful, and as soon as she saw him her eyes lit up in this way that gave him a thrill. She was excited and happy to see him. Her cheeks filled with color, her mouth curved into a smile.

"That was fast," she said as she stepped back into the apartment. He followed her in without speaking. They stood in her hall for a moment in silence.

"Bella," he started. She looked at him, bottom lip between her teeth.

"Bella," he tried again. But the words weren't coming, and she was standing there looking so expectant.

So he did the only thing he could think to do.

He closed the space between them, took her face in his hands and kissed her.


	6. Better Man

**Hello readers. I just wanted to say thank you again to all of you who review, it's great to see what you think! Also, this chapter is uh...questionable for those of you with virgin eyes. So just be aware that it gets a little lemony in section III.**

**Read on, and enjoy!**

**--Chedea  
**

I.

Son of a _bitch_.

That goddamn detective, Cullen was his name, he was about to mess everything up. Not only was he getting wise to the game, figuring things out with startling rapidity, but he was there with her, touching her, his mouth moving and smiling, making her feel _safe_.

Son of a _bitch_.

She shouldn't feel safe. She wasn't safe. And now he was going to have to show her that more prevalently, more straightforwardly than he ever had. He hadn't planned on doing this so soon, but if she was going be smiling like that, talking with such effortless peace she was forcing his hand. It was her fault it was happening like this. It was her fault it was happening at all. _She_ was the one who had called to him, like a siren when she was a child, beckoning him with an unbreakable spell. _She_ was the one who had run. _She_ was the one who had spent all this time away, all this time in a normal life when she should have been dead a long time ago. She wound her magic into his head and all he could of was her, he breathed, ate, drank and dreamed of nothing but her. Over a decade of his life, finding her, tracking her, moving with her, and plotting, all this planning to finally be able to put things in motion.

And now she was forcing things to progress in a way he was not ready for them to progress. It took patience to create the scenarios he created, took preparation to make sure things went off without a hitch, but it took a steeling of the mind to make himself do what he had planned, and not skip ahead, not just take her, kill her, end this mental torture.

He practically roared in fury and threw his binoculars on the floor. He was _kissing her_. His mouth was on her mouth, his hands in her hair. He was touching something that wasn't rightfully his to touch, this detective, this interloper, this intruder.

That made him surer, more certain than he had ever been that things needed to progress, now now now now now now now now.

II.

Morning light shone through the uncovered windows. It dappled across the rumpled covers like the rippling surface of a lake. It was so warm under the covers of her bed that Bella scarcely had the will to move. She was surrounded by a large down comforter, the highest thread count sheets she could afford and the very real, very warm, very comforting arms of a man.

Edward was still asleep, breathing slowly and rhythmically. But his arms were wound tightly around Bella's naked torso and she could feel the outline of his arms, of his hands, of every finger as they were pressed to her skin. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so relaxed, so safe. His warm body curved around hers felt like heaven. She didn't ever want to move a single inch. She could happily live and die in his arms, in her bed.

She felt him stir and stilled herself for an entire moment as he moved, stretching, taking his arms back from her, reaching them over his head. He grunted tiredly, flexing his whole body for a moment and then slackened and came back to her, wrapping himself around her completely.

He mumbled something into the nape of her neck, under her hair and she had to ask him to repeat himself.

"I said good morning," he said a little louder, with more diction.

"Good morning," she answered.

"Your bed is very comfortable," he murmured before pressing his lips firmly against her neck, once twice, again and again, uncountable times. Goose bumps broke over her skin even though she wasn't the slightest bit cold under her covers. She turned her face and without a second thought he placed his lips against hers, softly at first, with increasing pressure and passion as time passed.

There was something so right about being there with Edward. Something about the soft pressure of his mouth against hers, his warm skin, his heavy breathing. But eventually all the kisses had to stop, all the teasingly intense touches had to cease and both he and she had to get out of her bed and into their clothes, which were scattered about her floor. Edward collected his things and with the kind of grace only he possessed, reluctantly put them back on. Bella went to her dresser, picked out a suitable work outfit and donned her clothing with the same mentality.

They talked quietly with each other for a few minutes while they dressed, mostly about whether or not Bella should put coffee on, if they had enough time for breakfast. They settled on coffee and bagels and Bella disappeared into the kitchen to take care of breakfast while Edward finished getting dressed, still trying to locate one of his socks. She popped his bagel into the toaster, yelled to him about how dark he liked it toasted and if he preferred butter or cream cheese while she put a new filter in the coffee pot, scooping enough coffee grounds into the filter for several cups of coffee.

"Whatever you make will be fine, and cream cheese," Edward called back to her from the bedroom, and she could hear him hopping into his socks. Bella put the toaster in the middle of the darkness scale and poured water into the coffee maker.

It occurred to Bella for the first time, with swift profundity, that she had slept with Edward Cullen, the detective on her case, a man she was going to have to spend countless more hours with, if her current situation spoke of times to come. Had he not, weeks ago, talked about propriety and how it wasn't appropriate to eat dinner with her? And yet there they were, him walking into her kitchen, straightening his button down shirt, rubbing absently at his five o'clock shadow.

It also occurred to Bella as she got him a mug for the coffee when it was ready and retrieved the cream cheese for their bagels that she could do this every morning. She could wake up with him, make breakfast, drink coffee, steal his kisses.

He started talking about the case as she handed the bagel and cream cheese to him and then shortly after gave him coffee and a small container of half and half and her sugar dispenser. He poured both liberally into his cup, stirred it with the spoon she had given him and she watched him eat and drink as she leaned against the counter, listening to him talk while she waited for her own bagel. When hers popped she brought it and her coffee to the table and sat next to Edward. He kept talking, about leads that were popping up, forensics, about promising outcomes. He also told her that her case might be coming to the forefront of the media sometime soon, and that she should be careful. She accepted all his advice quietly.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, licking cream cheese off his thumb from an errant bit that had escaped his bagel.

"Edward, we had sex," she said flatly. His eyes widened and then smoldered.

"I recall," he answered, his voice a bit lower than it had been the moment before.

"We have to see each other, in a professional capacity. I have to spend time with you in the station house, you have to call me about the case, and we have to see each other and I―"

He cut off her words, his lips upon hers.

"Bella, I don't know if you have noticed, but I really like you. I didn't want to sleep with you because you are insanely beautiful and I couldn't help myself, though I will admit that those things certainly pressed on my mind with insane constancy. I like you. I like your bravery, your culinary skills, your honesty, your heart, your eyes, the way you say my name, the way you fight every day to live a normal life. You make me nervous. You make my heart race. I can't remember the last time a woman made me feel like this. And maybe we shouldn't be doing this, because of the situation we are in. But we won't always be in it. And I wouldn't care even we were. You are the one I want. I'm being selfish because I should have talked to you, I should have thought ahead that it might make you uncomfortable but that is all I have for you. I just want you. I want you. I don't know what else to tell you."

"That's enough," Bella whispered in return.

"It shouldn't have to be," he argued.

"But it is. Edward, we aren't in a normal situation where you could ask me out to dinner and we could progress like any other normal, regular couple would progress. So if this is what we have, nights and mornings together, moments here and there where we can be…whatever it is we are, I will take that for now."

"For now," Edward repeated.

"When all this is over, I will want more than just moments. I will want whole days and even weekends here and there."

"Anything," he promised. She smiled and he smiled back. She felt a kind of peace come over her as she sipped her coffee and ate her breakfast. This was the way things should be, easy, just coffee and breakfast with a man she cared for. Edward finished his cup of coffee and kissed Bella once on the forehead, and after a second thought, again on the mouth quite thoroughly.

"I have to go to work but, um, I was…I want to come see you again, when I get out, probably around seven, is that…I mean, can we do that, is that okay?"

Bella laughed and admired for a moment how adorable he was when he stumbled over his words. She had never seen him so unsure of himself. She stood up as he was standing and brushed a piece of errant hair from his forehead.

"That sounds lovely. Think you could bring dinner? I don't have anything here because we were gone for a few days and I was going to go grocery shopping, but I got distracted last night," she teased.

"By what, exactly?" Edward asked, a wicked grin on his handsome face.

"A man, he's very attractive, very smart, he's on the force, you might know him."

He smiled wider at her teasing and then she had to reluctantly shoo him off to work before he was late and people started calling, wondering where he was. It wasn't unlike Emmett, so he told her, that if he was more than five minutes late, to call him until he either picked up or walked in the door. Not out of worry, he assured her, but only to annoy him. The affection in Edward's voice made it clear he didn't mind being badgered. He and Emmett were obviously very close already, more like friends than partners.

"Go to work. The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back to me," she said lightly. He looked at her, a sudden seriousness in his eyes.

"I will always come back to you," he assured her quietly. She felt herself moved, melting, even though she was trying not to fall too hard for him. It was taking all her effort to not just tumble completely head over heels for him; he only made it harder when he said things like that. She didn't know what to say and so she only smiled. He ducked his head and caught her mouth in one more, brief goodbye kiss. Bella sat back down at the table when she heard the door close behind him and breathed a slow breath.

There was an indelible feeling in her chest that things had changed, so many things, and that she hadn't even seen half of it between the last night and this morning. It was for a brief moment frightening, so many things shifting at once, but the smile on her face just wouldn't go away. So, still wondering what other surprises the day might bring her, she got up, rinsed the cups in the sink, put the cream cheese and bagels away, gathered her work things, brushed her teeth, put her hair up and headed out the door.

It was the last day of normalcy she would get for a very long time.

III.

"You _scoundrel_," Emmett proclaimed in his booming, commanding voice. Edward felt his face tinge a shade of red as he opened his mouth to deny what he could see Emmett already knew. Emmett gave him a skeptical look and Edward shook his head. He wasn't going to share the details of the night before, not with anyone not ever. It was too personal, too private, too much like a dream to risk speaking out loud.

He had been terrified that when he kissed Bella she was going to rebuke him. But when his mouth met hers, following the immediate shock she seemed to come to life, fingers twisting into his hair desperately, letting her body press along every line of his without second thought or concern. It was like a switch had been turned on somewhere, and every moment of denial, every time he told himself he shouldn't, every thought he had about her that he told himself he shouldn't have came rushing back and he just _wanted_ her. He told himself he should slow down, that he should take it easy, it was just a kiss, a first one at that. But when he pulled away from her she looked back at him and there was the same need, the same want as he felt shining back at him.

Their mouths were never separated longer than it took to take a breath. She moved away from him momentarily to strip off her blouse, which he was pretty sure he heard tear as she yanked it violently over her head. When his hands connected with her bare flesh he felt like he was being allowed to touch an angel, she was so fucking soft, so delicate under his hands. Her body curved in all the right places, ample breasts, a good set of hips under the fabric of her skirt that he wanted to tear it off of her.

_Slow down, _he had told himself.

But she wasn't slow down. She didn't look like she wanted to. She would have popped the buttons off of his shirt if he hadn't taken her hands off his shirt and undone them as fast as he could. She pushed her hands over his shoulders, into the sleeves of his shirt and slid it down his arms with sudden slowness. Her finger tips slid over his skin with the most delicate touch he could imagine. His whole upper body broke out in goose bumps. She smiled and moved closer to him. He could feel the satin from her still present bra pressed against the now bare flesh of his chest. She pressed her mouth wetly against his neck, down his collar bones, over his chest, all while tracing light lines over his arms, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. She was making him shake and she was barely even touching him.

He was letting her take the reins, making sure he didn't overstep any of her boundaries—they were unspoken after all. He had no way of knowing what would make her uncomfortable, what would feel too rushed, what would make her freeze up and push him away. So he took his arms and wrapped them around her lower back, pressing his hands to her bare skin, feeling the heat of it as her entire torso connected with his. Their mouths met again. She parted her lips and skimmed her tongue over his bottom lip before he met her tongue with his. She shuddered in his arms and he felt his whole body ache with a need to have her, right then, right there. She must have felt it to, because the heavenly slowness she had taken up with ended as abruptly as it began.

She unraveled her arms from around his neck and within seconds had the clasps of her bra undone and it was on the floor along with her torn blouse. She was so beautiful, perfect peaches and cream skin, the kind of skin that made him want to put his mouth all over her. So he did exactly what he was thinking of. He parted their lips and grazed his over her neck, settling momentarily to nip gently at her ear lobe before dropping lower, pressing wet kisses to her neck before licking his way across her collar bones and over to the other side of her neck. Her whole body went almost completely limp for a whole second as she let out some sort of strangled moaning sound that made Edward want to do nothing but bring that sound from her mouth as often as possible.

She wriggled in his arms for a strange moment and when she extricated herself she was panting heavily, eyes frenzied with need that excited him even more.

"Come with me," she said. She paused a moment, contemplating him. "And take those off," she added, gesturing to his pants. Edward followed behind her as quickly as possible and obliged as soon as they arrived in her bedroom. They were getting too tight anyway. When his pants were off she took another moment to look at him in the light of her bedroom and without hesitation unzipped the tight-in-all-the-right-places skirt she was wearing. Watching it slip down her thighs was possibly the longest five seconds of his life. She stepped out of it, in only her underwear, just like Edward was and it suddenly hit him that they had spoken ten words between them since he had gotten there.

"Bella," he said, before she could touch him again, before she could muddle his thoughts with her mouth and her skin and God, with the smell that came off her, with that glorious body of hers. She paused, mid-step to him and looked at him, with adorable bewilderment.

"Are we maybe going too fast here?" he asked, not believing he was speaking those words when she was standing right there with barely anything on, her hips, her breasts, her ungodly long legs begging him to touch them. And for a moment she looked like she was going to say, it was too fast, she had gotten caught up. But then a slow smile spread across her mouth, both beautiful and mischievous at the same time and she finished closing the space between them with determined slowness.

"Edward, the only way you could possibly think we were going too slow is if you had been completely oblivious to the attraction and tension between us for the last few weeks, which I know for an absolute fact that you weren't."

"I―"

"I am a big girl. I can take care of myself. I know sometimes it doesn't seem like that, the way you know me, but I promise, outside of homicidal maniacs, I am capable of watching out for myself."

"I know that," he argued. She smiled again.

"So stop worrying and just believe me when I tell you that I want this," she answered, taking his hands and placing them on her hips. As soon as his fingers touched her silky skin all thoughts of propriety and of taking it slow were gone. He pulled her to him and kissed her desperately, overwhelmed by how much he wanted her, needed her, how good it felt to just be touching her. her mouth moved with his, in a slow rhythm that built up into a frenzy of motion, until his hands were sliding all over her, hers all over him, his mouth devouring her skin, lips and tongue and teeth grazing over her skin while she shuddered and returned his affections in kind.

Eventually, she pulled him onto her bed and without ceremony climbed atop him, thighs straddling his hips and a prominent erection. She grinned and immediately ground her hips down against him. His head fell back and he groaned, causing her to laugh like the little fucking vixen she was. She moved her hips in slow, agonizing circles, until he grabbed her hips in his hands a little harder than he intended and she looked at him with raised eyebrows, fully aware of what she was doing.

"I am not going to be able to take that much longer," he warned her. She smiled, touched her mouth to his softly, gently, a kiss of acquiescence and affection. The kiss deepened, became more impassioned and she rolled off of him, to his side and he took the hint and pulled her underneath him. He slid his fingers down her sides, over her stomach and hips, down her thighs and back up, under the top of her panties. He looked at her, asking her one more time if she was okay. She lifted her hips and he got his answer.

Her underwear was on the floor within the moment, his followed immediately after.

He wanted to look at her, take in her whole body without clothes, the way he had pictured it a thousand times though he berated himself for it. But he settled for feeling it instead as he pressed his body against hers, from shoulder to hip. She arched her back, like she was trying to make him closer than he already was and he understood that feeling, needing to be closer.

"I want you right now," she said suddenly. Edward started to protest, he wanted to time to touch her, to taste her, to hear her cry out for him before actually making love to her but she raised her hips to his and looked at him with increased need. He slid his hand down between them and realized she was already so ready for him. It made him shiver to realize that it was for him, only for him. She was lying in this bed, naked, waiting, ready, for him. He was about to ask about protection when she told him to go into her nightstand drawer. There were a few condoms in the drawer. He immediately took one out and put it on. He took a deep, steadying breath before readjusting their position so he was more comfortably between her thighs.

She leaned up and kissed him again, that same gentle kind of kiss from a few moments before and he felt his himself start to tumble, right over the edge in love with her as he slid himself inside her. For a moment he couldn't move. She was like heaven, she felt better than anything else he had ever experienced in his entire life. He had to actively concentrate and bring himself back to a place where he could think, if only for a moment at a time.

It was Bella who spurred him on to movement. She lifted her hips just enough that he was pulled even deeper inside her. He moaned and immediately began rocking his hips with hers, finding a rhythm they were both comfortable with. Bella's eyes fluttered and then closed, her lips parted gently as he dipped his head down and licked down her neck, down her chest, his tongue laving over her perfect breasts. She cried out in pleasure and surprise and immediately wrapped her legs around his waist. He muttered a brief swear against her skin and picked up the pace as she began moving harder and faster against him.

Their hips moved in perfect time, and each time he pressed inside her he felt like he was going to fall over some precipice. He was trying to hold on for Bella, so she could be satisfied before he was. But the things she was doing, the way she was moving his hips against was making him insane.

"If you keep doing that I am not going to last much longer," he managed to say. She pressed her mouth to his and kept up her movements. He couldn't form words. He buried his face into her neck and she wrapped her arms around his back. Being so close to her, feeling every inch of her body against his as he pressed inside her, hearing her moaning, made him start to shake. He pressed his mouth against hers desperately, and before he could think of controlling himself, the sensation built to an unmanageable point and felt his whole body shake as he climaxed.

He moved to Bella's side as he came down from the euphoria. His hand covered her stomach as he felt every muscle in his body relax. Bella reached down and pulled the condom off to toss it in the trash on her side of the bed and then rolled right over and settled herself against Edward's side.

They had lain there, in comfortable quiet, for a long time, before Bella started talking to him, not about anything important, mostly inconsequential things. She started telling him stories about when she was in college or something about work and he just listened, just soaked up her voice and her life and committed everything to memory. He wanted to know her, wanted to hear her tell him everything about her, things that he didn't know. He knew what had happened to her, knew what was happening to her now, but he wanted to see beyond that, to who she was when she wasn't a victim.

Eventually though, her voice started to get slower, her words slurred together in incomprehensible jumbles and Edward just pulled her closer, listening as her words became slow steady breathing and she fell asleep, right there in his arms.

The morning had brought the complications of actually having to talk about it, but he _wanted_ to talk about it, wanted to make her understand that it hadn't been sex for sex's sake. He had made love to her, Bella was the kind of woman you made love to, without question, because he wanted her, of course because he wanted her, but also because he liked her, he cared about her. From the very first moment he met her he had liked her, and that feeling had only grown, exponentially so, since then. He wanted to make her understand that even after the case ended, even after everything was settled, he wanted to see her, to be with her. The idea of not being able to do so made him ache from the inside out.

They had left things in an open ended way, but he knew that she understood, that what he had told her had made her understand that he was serious about wanting to be with her. And so with one last reluctant kiss he had been shooed away to work where he was trying to hide the obvious embarrassment at being called out, but also the very real euphoria that hadn't quite all drained away.

"Edward," Emmett said more quietly when Edward had sat down, "I told you to go tell the girl how you feel, not to bed her."

"Emmett…it wasn't like I planned it, okay?"

"So you did!"

"Shut the fuck up, _comrade_, it's no one's business," Edward warned. Emmett held up his hands in defeat, with a sheepish, yet somehow still mischievous look on his face.

"Can I tell you what I found out about our Detective James Alistair?" he inquired a moment later. Edward raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"Well, his jacket lists two separate complaints made against him that were both dropped, right? So, being the tenacious and skilled detective that I am, I decided to look into those complaints. They were both excessive force complaints, and both ended up being unsubstantiated. But I started thinking about it, and how is it that this guy, he kind of man who can wait thirteen years for a perfect opportunity to go after a woman would fly off the handle enough to actually merit an excessive force complaint?

"And for a while, it bugged me because it just didn't make sense. If he was really our guy, he would be cool as a motherfucking cucumber every minute of every day. That's the way these guys operate, very fucking calm, collected, almost too normal. But then it hit me, what cop, at least one with any real time on the job, has a perfect record? I've got complaints, so do you, shit, so does the captain. So I did some calling around, I found out how to get in contact with the guys who made the complaints. One of them bought the big one a few months ago, but the other one is alive and kicking and lives in Allston, so I say we drive out there and pay him a visit."

"That is the best thing you have said all morning," Edward replied and they got their jackets and headed off.

* * *

Later, when things were going crazy, when things were swirling around him, sirens and flashing lights and the kind of blind panic that only comes when you are protective of someone in danger, Edward would remember what Eric Yorkie had told him and Emmett when they went to talk to him at his place of employment.

Eric had been busted for a possession charge, and Detective Alistair was his arresting officer. Eric said he had known he was in trouble and hadn't bothered to struggle or try to deny it. He hadn't said a thing, in fact. He was taking advantage of his right to remain silent. But when Detective Alistair's partner went to the car to radio in the arrest things had changed dramatically. Without warning the detective began assaulting him, punched him, kicked him, basically beat the shit out of him for no reason at all. He hadn't put up a fight, hadn't mouthed off. But as soon as they were alone, the detective had gone ape shit on him and beaten him so badly he wasn't able to see out of one of his eyes for a week.

Edward wasn't much of a fan of drug dealers, but it had been four years since his arrest, and he seemed to have cleaned up his act since then. He and Emmett sat and listened to his story quietly, asking for clarification when they needed it.

"The scariest thing?" Eric said as they were leaving. "Was the way he acted while he did it. He didn't do it in a rage; he looked completely calm while he did it. I remember him wiping my blood off his hands onto my shirt with this serene look on his face. The guy had just given me the worst ass kicking of my life and he looked like he had just made pancakes or some shit."

Edward and Emmett didn't need to discuss it on the way back to the station house. Emmett had guessed that Detective Alistair had provoked the excessive force complaints because it was normal for a BPD cop, or any cop really, to have one or two of them. No one believed that you could keep your cool all the time, when someone was mouthing off, or fighting you too hard, sometimes you just snapped.

Unless you happened to a sociopath, and Edward was coming closer and closer to conclusively saying that James Alistair was conclusively exactly that kind of feeling-less monster.

When they returned to station house they parked the car in the spot it belonged in and went inside, still not speaking. When they got inside, however, there was something happening, and Edward could tell right away it wasn't right.

"What the fuck…Bella?" Edward muttered. He had been scanning the room, looking for someone who might be able to tell him what the hell was going on, when he saw Bella walking into the captain's office, her face a cold, pale white. His stomach roiled and without a second thought he handed his jacket to Emmett, who was more than willing to take it, and went after her.

He knocked on the captain's door a moment after it closed and announced himself. Within the second, the door was opened, and a uniformed officer stepped out and Edward stepped in. Bella looked in his direction and her face calmed a little. He went and sat in the other open chair in front of the captain's desk, careful not to be inappropriately close to Bella but still be close enough to her to give his support.

"Someone broke into Bella's apartment this morning after she left for work," the captain announced.

"Theft?" he asked, even though he knew it wasn't that. He _knew_ what had happened, even before he was told.

"Someone came in and broke all my things. He shredded all my clothes, tore my bed apart, broke all my dishes, wrote…things all over my walls, he even tore up the toilet in my bathroom. That's how we found out about this, there was water leaking into the downstairs apartment. When they went up to see what the problem was that was when…they saw the damage and the super called the police," Bella said quietly. Her voice was flat, even; it did not wobble or whine. She was detaching, because she was afraid and because she didn't know what else to do.

"So what are we doing about this?" Edward asked the captain.

"You and Emmett are going over to her apartment to check this out. Forensics is already there photographing the scene, but they said they wouldn't take anything out until you had time to look it over. And Miss Swan is going to go stay at a hotel with a protective detail until we can figure out exactly what it is that happened."

Edward nodded.

It was clear after that that Edward was dismissed, so he took his cue and left the office, finding Emmett standing exactly where he had been when he left him.

"Someone―" Edward began.

"I know, a uniform just told me what happened. Are we supposed to be checking it out?"

"Yes, captain said to go over there before forensics takes it apart so we can get a look at things."

Emmett nodded. He handed Edward his jacket back and they walked out together, back to the car from whence they had so recently come. Emmett took the keys and started driving over to Bella's apartment building. Edward took his personal cell phone and found Bella's number.

_Are you all right?_

He sent the text message with more concern than could be conveyed through that medium, but it was all that was available to him. He couldn't call her while she was still in the station house without arousing some serious suspicion, and the last thing he needed right now was for his ethics to be questioned. He needed to do his job. He needed to keep her safe.

_Shaken up, but not hurt. Tell me everything is going to be okay._

Edward read her message and had to take a deep breath and steady himself. He wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms and tall her everything was going to be fine, but he couldn't do that now. It made him furious that his only way of comforting her right now was through a text message, but he would give her what she asked for, in any way he could.

_Everything is going to be okay. I promise._

He sent the message and put his phone in his pocket as they neared her building. They were waved into one of the handicap spaces by a uniformed officer who was directing the other residents of the building. They ascended the few flights of stairs to her apartment and Edward felt dread building in his stomach. He crossed the threshold into her apartment, ducking under the police tape and almost threw up. He had kissed her in this hallway the night before, and now it was torn apart. All the pictures she had hung were smashed to the floor, glass covering the floor. He walked down the hall and found the kitchen. The food from her refrigerator was all over the floor, thrown against the walls. All her china was obliterated on the floor, save for the two mugs they had used that morning, which were sitting accusingly on the drying rack next to the sink.

Her bedroom, however, had gotten the worst of the destruction. Her closet door was torn off the hinges and every article of her clothing was lying in ribbons on the closet floor. The pictures on her bedroom walls were smashed just like the ones in the hall. The mirror on her bureau was shattered. Her sheets were torn from her bed and ripped apart. The bed itself looked like someone had taken a very large knife to it, ripping through the pillow top, ripping the inside of her mattress apart. He had slept there the night before. He had made love to Bella right there, held her in his arms. He inconspicuously moved around to the side of the bed and looked into the trash can. The condom they had used was still in it, along with its wrapper. They were going to have to take that into evidence.

Shit. Fuck.

Edward looked up from his silent contemplations and decided to read the words on the wall. Someone had taken a sharpie or some other large black permanent marker and written all over her walls.

The first word he read was 'whore'. He flinched at the thought of Bella reading what was on these walls. He kept reading, and as the words went—through her bedroom, down the hall, into the kitchen, back into the hall—the words detailed things he shouldn't have known about her. What she liked to wear to bed at night. How long it took her to shower every morning. Her favorite thing to cook. What she wore to the gym. Endless streams of information that he shouldn't have had, unless he had been stalking her pretty seriously for the past few years. He was _trying_ to frighten her, and he had done it.

The further down the walls he got, the angrier the words got. They went from listing things about her to accusing her of being a whore, a bitch, a stupid cunt, the list went on. Eventually Edward got to the end, even though it made him sick to keep reading. The diatribe ended with "I'll be seeing you soon."

Edward nearly growled. Not if he could fucking help it.

When he and Emmett felt satisfied that they had seen everything and had gotten everything from the scene they could get they let forensics take over. They descended the stairs in the same silence they ascended them with.

"That was some heavy shit, partner," Emmett said when they got into the car. Edward didn't say anything, only nodded. He was trying to puzzle his way through how to stop this, how to get ahead of the curve and prevent anything else from happening.

"Edward?" Emmett's voice broke through the concentration. He looked up and Emmett's face was concerned.

"I don't meant to rub salt in a fresh wound, but that condom in the trash is going to be collected, and they are going to test it for DNA and I do believe you are in the system, just like the rest of us. They are going to find out you slept with her. When they do…you'll be pulled from the case at the least, suspended at the worst. If that happens…"

He stopped speaking. Edward understood what he was saying. He had about a week before the DNA match came up and everyone would know that he and Bella had slept together.

"So my options are what?" he asked.

"Either turn yourself in now, hope to God that the captain goes easy and you just get pulled from her case, or, we can be fucking superhero cops and solve this thing in a week before the results come back."

"That's it, huh?" Edward inquired. Emmett laughed.

"Yeah, so it would seem. And I don't know about you, but I really like the idea of being a superhero cop."

Edward managed a chuckle.

"Well I guess if my options are do nothing or be all John Wayne and save the day, I'll go with the latter."

"I like it."

"I think we should go over to the Vice unit; we are way fucking overdue for a conversation with Detective James Alistair"

Emmett put the car in drive and Edward tried to think about something other than how badly he wanted to be the shit out of the guy they were going to see. He couldn't be sure that he was the one, not yet, but even his suspicion made his hands itch to beat the motherfucker down. But he held it together, if only because he had promised Bella that he would always come back to her. He made her a promise, several promises, about how things were going to work out, and he had no intention of breaking them. He would make everything okay again for her, no matter what it took. Even if it put him in danger. Even if he had to take the fucker down himself.

Even if it killed him.


	7. I Alone

**Hello again, readers! Some abbreviations, for you in this chapter:**

**MMA—Mixed Marital Arts**

**CI—confidential informant**

**GSW--gun shot wound**

**GSR--gun shot residue  
**

**I think that was all of them, but if I am wrong, please, don't hesitate to PM me with questions. Enjoy! :)**

I.

"How can I help you two?" he asked. The smaller one, he was wiry and looked like he would be easy to take out if need called for it. He was already itching to hurt him, to kill him for the way he had touched her, like he had any goddamn right, like she belonged to him. The truth was she belonged to one person, one who had taken her in the first place and it was not this Edward Cullen.

But good sense and judgment told him to leave well enough alone. The big one, Emmett McCarty he said, he looked like a right motherfucker, the kind of guy that went down fighting, and even if you beat him left you with a fair share of damage to be dealt with. If at all possible he would avoid being involved with McCarty. Cullen he could handle. Adding someone the weight and built of a few MMA fighters was not something he thought would do well in the mix.

He had to listen to his head now, when really he was just aching to provoke Cullen.

"Well, our captain has us doing a few little inter-departmental interviews with some cops who were on the force back in Seattle back when that string of kidnappings was going on. It's frequently referred to as the Isabella Swan case; you remember the one, right?" McCarty questioned. There was innocence, even naivety in his eyes, but it a façade. He was smarter than he looked, there was something strangely wise and quick witted about him, lumbering oaf though he might have appeared.

"Of course I remember," he answered. "I was just a patrol officer at that point. I was working for the vice unit in Seattle as a uniform, but everyone who worked there in those months remembers that."

"Good. Well, we were wondering if we could ask you some questions about your work in Seattle. There have been some things popping up that might have something to do with that case and we're tracking down anyone we can find locally that might know something."

_Might_ have to do with that case? They weren't that stupid. They were playing him, thinking he didn't know their game. He couldn't help but notice that it was always McCarty who spoke to him. Was Cullen too sullen, too worried over her after what happened at her apartment?

It had been easy to get into her apartment, he wanted to tell him. He had just flashed his badge and in he went without a problem. And he had been on the job long enough to know how to pick a simple tumbler lock. The chain on the door was easily broken and then it was a piece of cake.

Of course, once he was in the apartment he had lost track of time for a while. He had escaped into somewhere in his mind where nothing but the urge to destroy the things that were hers, the things that shouldn't even have existed was present. When he felt thoroughly sated, his urge to rip things apart, he backtracked to what his original plan had been, to write on her walls all the things he knew about her, because he had been watching her for years now and knew all her idiosyncrasies. But as he was writing he felt the rage swelling back underneath him somewhere and felt it break free as he scribbled desperately all the awful things he thought about her, told her what a bitch and a whore she was for fucking that cop, for letting him take what wasn't his to take nor hers to give.

But he resisted the urge to tell that story, or of his future plans, because he wasn't about to ruin years of planning and waiting all because he wanted to goad a detective. He was sorely tempted, but his patience and discipline eventually won out.

"I don't know what help I would be, guys. I just walked a beat in those days; I didn't have anything to do with Bella's case," he insisted. Cullen's eyes widened marginally. Something he had said had interested him. Fuck. What could he have said in such an innocuous sentence to have warranted interest?

"We understand that Detective Alistair, we have gotten the same story from a lot of the cops we've talked to, but you know how it is, captain says you have to do something and what choice do you really have? He has this idea in his head that the Black murder has something to do with her case. I told him that was just grasping at straws. It was a robbery, plain and simple. I mean the guy looked like he had been in a struggle and his wallet had been cleaned out, how much more do you need to pin something down, you know?" McCarty inquired.

James thought for a moment. Maybe this cop wasn't as smart as he had originally supposed he was. He was a detective, but there were a hundred reasons a cop could be promoted to detective these days, it didn't necessarily demonstrate any level of skill or intelligence.

James produced the necessarily chuckle at that part of the conversation, the one necessitated by social standards that he had learned to observe over the years. McCarty grinned at him while Cullen kept that sour look on his face, like someone had stuck a lemon in his mouth and he couldn't get the taste out.

"I heard about the Black case. He was in Seattle back when I was too; he was the head detective on Bella's case, wasn't he?"

"He sure was," McCarty answered.

"It's a damn shame about what happened to him. He was a good cop."

"That he was. So you're sure you don't have anything to offer us about the Isabella Swan case?" McCarty asked. James thought for a moment. Should he give them something, just a tidbit of information for them to waste their time on, if only for a little while, to give him time to finish what needed to be finished? Would they take the bait even if he did? Cullen was a smart man. He had read his jacket and looked into his background, and it was nothing if not impressive. The kid had been top of his class at Harvard for their criminal justice program, and he had continued to excel out of college, in the academy. He had made detective after only four years on the job, which was practically unheard of, but his performance on the exam was also almost unheard of, and so he wasn't surprised. Even if McCarty wasn't as intelligent as he had once surmised he was, Cullen was certainly a bright kid, and would be able to pick up a trail faster than McCarty. He decided against trying to keep them busy.

"I wish I had something to tell you guys, but honestly, all I did back then was patrol some neighborhoods and some industrial districts, answer distress calls, that sort of thing. I got moved to the Vice unit after the first kidnapping and I worked with CI's there until I put in to transfer," James said carefully.

McCarty nodded, Cullen continued his troubled look, but stayed silent. James nodded his head at them in an informal goodbye and turned to leave, but immediately upon turning, he heard a different voice, must have been Cullen, call out to him.

"Yes, detective?" he asked. His voice had gotten an edge to it that he had to remind himself to quell. Now wasn't the time.

"Why _did_ you transfer from Seattle?" he asked flatly. If there was an accusation in that question—and James was almost certain there was—he wasn't hearing it in his tone.

"I was tired of the rain."

Cullen nodded with a pensive look on his face and then both he and McCarty left his station house without another word. James watched them walk away and made a mental note that when he was done with Bella, he would make Edward Cullen suffer for what he had done.

II.

Bella was pacing. She hadn't been allowed to go back into work after she found out her apartment was broken into, in case the person after her was planning on attacking her that day. As Edward had warned her, she had been dropped into a middle of the road quality motel with a uniformed officer inside the room and an undercover patrol car outside in case anything went wrong. But she knew, somehow she knew, that three officers, two so far away they couldn't get to her immediately if they had to, would not be able to save her if the man after her decided to find her and finish the job.

They went to a deli to get her lunch, and she ate it at the tiny circular table in her room. For a while she tried to distract herself with television, but daytime TV was notoriously bad, and Jerry Springer could only hold her attention for so long. She wanted out, she wanted to go home, and she wanted Edward. But she remembered that out meant unsafe, that she had no home to go back to and that Edward was probably out doing what he did best, which was try to catch the psychopath that was after her in the first place.

She started to think herself in circles, wondering whether she would have rather have never had the most horrible thing in her life happen, and thus never have met Edward or could she bear the memories she was saddled with, the appropriated fears from those experiences, all because she was able to hear his voice and feel a kind of calm that it was impossible to describe in words. There was something in his eyes that made her feel like she was floating in some warm sea, like all her troubles would be gone if only she asked.

But would she even have that need for safety if she had never known true fear the way she did? Would she have ever met Edward if she hadn't demanded to see someone at the police station that day? She had to tell herself in this hypothetical world she was in, that she would have met Edward another way, because the idea of forgoing torture to never meet him was something she was struggling to imbricate.

Eventually she decided to lie down and rest for a while, to try and sleep away her fear and unease and the distinct feeling of longing that was piercing her with undiluted force. She made herself kick off her shoes and settle onto the less than comfortable bed she was provided with while the uniformed officer in her room glanced her way in a cursory way and then picked the newspaper he had been reading back up and continued reading it. She put the television on in the background to break up the silence that hung around her like a heavy fog and closed her eyes. She imagined that she was back in her bed, still tangled with Edward's warm limbs, still coming down from the euphoria of love making, drifting into a world of mist and happiness where she felt sleep drag her under like a strong tide.

When she woke up she thought she _was_ back in her bed and immediately sat up, relieved that it had only been a nightmare, that things were still all right, only to see where she was and feel the burden settle back onto her. She felt her heart get heavy when she saw there was only the uniformed detective with her and not Edward, not Edward sitting at the little table setting down a paper with a smile, not Edward in her bed, arms wrapped tightly around her with a languid smile, not Edward holding her, making her feel safe, certainly not Edward making love to her in her bed, making her whole body shake until she thought she would never be still, until she thought she would forever be an earthquake in the wake of his affection.

So she instead flopped back down and covered her face with her hands, listening to Law and Order start to sound from the television quietly and drew a few deep breaths. There was just so much time now, so much time to think and wonder and remember what was written on her walls and what he had done to her apartment. It wasn't the names he had called her, or even the things he told her about her life that scared her, it was the way he had ended it, promising to see her again soon. The idea shook her to her very core. If he could get into her apartment any time he wanted, it meant that he could have come at any time, he could have tortured her, killed her, done anything he wanted for as long as he had known where she was, but he didn't.

The idea that he was waiting for some specific time, that there was something he was anticipating, some specific moment he was waiting for made her more fearful than she thought it would. It was terrifying knowing that someone could get to you any time they wanted, it was more terrifying knowing that they chose not to for their own reason.

"Are you hungry, Ms. Swan?" the uniform inquired. Bella looked at the clock above the television for a moment. It was six o'clock already. Had she really slept so long? But she shook her head. She didn't want to eat. Her body felt like it was going to cease its regular functions until further notice. There were more moments of silence, of contemplation in which she tried her utmost to think of anything but fear, anything but words written on her apartment wall, anything but torture and death.

She was pulled from her reverie with a light sound on the door, the slightest of tapping. Fear beat into her blood with each pump of her heart for a moment, until the uniform went to the door and demanded the identity of the person on the other side.

"Detective Cullen," a voice announced.

"Show me your credentials," the uniform requested. There was a sound like rustling on the other side of the door, and then a moment of pause where the uniform stared through the peep hole. Then he slid the chain lock aside and undid the dead bolt and opened the door.

"Sorry about the whole credentials check, Detective, but you can't be too careful," the uniform said.

"Nonsense, officer, if you _hadn't_ checked I would have chewed your ass out for it. Why don't you take a break while I talk to Bella here for a little while?" he asked. But his tone, while inquisitive, made it clear he wasn't really asking. The officer nodded and disappeared through the door. Bella contained herself for the most part upon seeing him, ignoring the way her whole body seemed to vibrate upon his arrival. She could feel every cell in her calling to her that she should just cross the room and propel herself into his arms. But she knew that doing so in front of the officer present would have been a very misguided idea. So she waited until the door was closed and locked behind him, and then did exactly what her body was telling her to do.

Edward knocked back into the wall with a surprised 'oomph' and then wrapped one arm around her, returning her embrace as best he could. She looked down at why he wasn't holding her the way she wanted and noticed he was carrying a large brown paper bag in his other hand.

"What is that?" Bella inquired. Edward took a deep breath and met her eyes.

"I made you dinner. Why don't we sit down and eat. There are some things we need to talk about."

III.

Edward was brooding. According to Emmett it was what he did best. But there was nothing else for him to do until they got back to the station. He needed to call Captain Whitlock, and he didn't have the number on his cell phone and so there was nothing he could do until they got back to the station. He and Emmett hadn't said a word since they left Detective Alistair's station house, but he could feel the curiosity emanating from him. Emmett had known, just like Edward had known, that he was their guy, that James had been the one to do it all those years ago and he was the one stalking and scaring the shit out of Bella now, but probably for two very different reasons.

Emmett was a very good cop, and he had learned how to read people a long time ago. Little things would tip him off, like waiting too long to respond to an easy question. Not to mention, something Edward could identify with, he could just _feel it_, somewhere in his gut and he could just know. But for Edward, accompanying that overwhelming certainty that spread through his veins as soon as James opened his mouth were two little things he had said, probably things he hadn't even realized he had said.

He had called Isabella Bella, something he should not have known she preferred if he didn't know her, and from his own vehement protests, he claimed he didn't. It was small, and certainly not something he could tell to the captain or to anyone other than Emmett as to why he was getting the bad vibe from him, but it was something.

The other thing was the comment he made about his job back in Seattle at the time of the kidnappings. He said he had been a patrol officer, and his beat had included a few industrial districts.

Edward would have bet his entire salary that one of those industrial districts was a warehouse complex that had been abandoned.

And so he brooded, until he could get back to the station and inquire about what his beat had been back then. Emmett parked the car and took a deep breath.

"That was him, Edward," Emmett said quietly.

"I know it was," Edward replied.

"I don't need to remind you that while you may want to go beat the man to a bloody pulp there are things we have to do, protocol to follow, regardless of how you might feel personally."

"Fuck, I know, Emmett. And I do want to go beat him until he stops breathing, but if I can link him to the kidnappings in Seattle somehow, hell, if I can only link him to Bella's, I would happy to see him go down for it, and to get the needle for it. So I am all for protocol. I just need to go work this out so I can stop seeing his fucking smile in my head, like he knew something we didn't."

They got out of the car and Emmett locked it behind them. They began walking back toward the station house when Emmett stopped him again.

"Edward…should the time ever come where you do need to beat the shit out of him, if he slips through this or gets off somehow…you know there is nothing I would like more than to help you quickly and quietly dispose of him," he said somberly. Edward said nothing. He nodded and they continued walking. Sometimes, between partners, no words was the better option.

As soon as he was back at his desk, Edward flipped through the mess of files to find the number for the MCS in Seattle. When he finally found it he realized his fingers were shaking as he dialed the number. He was so close to nailing him for this, so close to taking him out that he could almost taste the relief of knowing it was over. But he also knew that getting ahead of himself would only lead to more trouble. The clock was still ticking away with the DNA evidence from that condom. There might not be enough evidence to convict him, even if they did make an arrest. Bella might still not be safe. He needed to slow down and catch his breath before he made some rookie mistake because he thought he had it all in the bag. If you think you have it all figured out, Emmett always told him, check your facts again because I bet you eight ways to Sunday you missed something.

So the phone was ringing in his hand as Emmett went to get them some coffee. A secretary picked up and Edward requested to be put through to Captain Whitlock. She told him to hold on moment and he was eventually patched through.

Alice's tiny soprano answered the phone, managing to still somehow command authority regardless of her pitch.

"Captain Whitlock, it's Detective Cullen, from the Boston MCS," he said quickly.

"Of course, Detective, what can I do for you today?"

Edward explained what he was hoping to find out and she told him it would be no trouble t have one of her detectives look it up for him and get back to him ASAP. It was top priority she told him. She also said that her husband was supposed to call him with a preliminary match on the handprint they found at the warehouse. Edward thanked her profusely and then shared the news with Emmett when he set a coffee cup down on his desk.

"I hate this part," Emmett replied when he was done explaining.

"Which part?"

"The one where we wait and hope it's good news."

* * *

"Hello?" Edward asked with impatience and urgency. It had been an hour since he had spoken to captain Whitlock and it was killing him to just sit. His and Emmett's desk phones rang at the same time and it had scared the shit out of him after sitting in such tense silence for so long.

"Detective Cullen? This is Detective Stanley, at the Seattle MCS? I am calling regarding the inquiry you made earlier today," the voice answered.

"Thank you, Detective Stanley, do you have anything for me?" he asked, trying to sound polite, even though what he really wanted was to just know what she knew right then so he could move forward.

"Well, when we looked into Detective Alistair's beat, we found that he worked a rather large area, but I have a feeling you are only concerned with whether or not he worked one specific location, am I right?"

"Precisely."

"The answer is yes, he worked the warehouse complex you visited when you were out here, and he was even called into it a few times to break up some drug rings, which is where he got his start in vice. Specifically, that warehouse you showed particular interest in was a location he was called to three times over the six months prior to the first kidnapping."

"Were there any more calls to that location after the kidnappings started?" Edward asked.

"I was curious about that myself, and it turns out there were not, however, one of the people that Detective Alistair arrested on drug charges several times from that location and a few others turned up dead after the third kidnapping. It was a single gunshot wound to the head, from a .22 we found right next to the body. The serial number was filed off and the only prints on it belonged to the victim. The confusing thing is how there was no GSR on the victim's hands and the angle of the GSW would have made his shooting himself impossible. Someone killed him and tried to make it look like a suicide, hoping no one would look too closely into it. And no one really did, to be honest. Of course there is no evidence to suggest that the two crimes are linked in any way, but I thought the coincidence would interest you."

"It certainly does. Good work, Detective, that is more helpful than you can imagine," Edward replied. Her professionalism broke when he heard her giggle.

"Thank you, Detective Cullen. Do you think you will need to come back to Seattle for this case at all?" she inquired. Edward's brow furrowed for a moment.

"No, I don't think I will. But should I need to return to the area, I'll be sure to let you know. Have a good day, Detective Stanley."

He didn't wait for her to respond before hanging the phone up.

"Good news?" Emmett inquired, looking up from whatever he had been doing at his desk, already having put down his phone. Edward grinned.

"Very good news—Detective Stanley from the Seattle MCS just called me, and it turns out that Alistair used to walk a beat that included the warehouse complex that we investigated, and he used to bust drug rings in that complex, more than once at the specific location we checked into. Not to mention a druggie who used the place as his haunt for years turned up dead after the kidnappings started."

"You think the druggie showed up to his usual hang out, caught Alistair in the act and got himself knocked off?" Emmett inferred.

"You're damn right that's what I think. The son of a bitch had a witness that he had to get rid of, so he murdered him, and he knew that no one would much look into the death of a junkie, especially not with the media hype around the kidnappings going on. Seattle was an out and out clusterfuck at the time, the death of junkie wouldn't ring a bell, even if it was under suspicious circumstances. No one would make the connection, hell, we probably wouldn't have made the connections without all the other digging we did."

"Well this is all well and good, but we don't have anything solid connecting James with that murder, the kidnappings, or anything else," Emmett replied darkly.

"Well not yet, but Jasper Whitlock is supposed to call and have the finger print analysis from the door in the warehouse," Edward said, shuffling papers together on his desk in a pleased, though not wholly victorious way.

"He already did," Emmett responded. "That was who called my phone when Detective Stanley called yours. He said he had a definitive match on the handprint, but you weren't going to like it much."

Edward's expression grew sour.

"Just tell me."

"It was Bella's," he told Edward.

"How could that be? She was too young when she was there to have a handprint big enough to match the one Jasper found at the scene. And I know she didn't touch the door with her flat open palm like that when we were there. I didn't take my eyes off of her for a second," Edward argued.

"While I don't doubt that for a second, Whitlock said it wasn't a fresh print. He doesn't know how old it is exactly, but it was left within the year, he said. The amount of degradation of the print and the size of Bella's hands makes him pretty sure he could say it was left within the year. It was placed there, planted most likely, since Bella hasn't been back to Seattle since she was in middle school. Fingerprint planting is possible, we both know it, and we both know it wouldn't be above the psycho to fuck with us."

"That son of a bitch…wait…within the last year, he said, is he sure?" Edward asked.

"As sure as he can be, given that there is no exact science to aging a fingerprint," Emmett replied. "Why does it matter?"

"Travel records, comrade, travel records—if James went to Seattle in the past year, it will be somewhere, plane tickets, gas fill ups for his car, _something_."

"But that still wouldn't prove anything."

"Emmett," Edward said desperately, "I know. I know it wouldn't prove anything. But we are treading water here and we don't have time for that. Bella might be in danger this very second, the clock is running out for me as for how long I still have on her case, or on the force, if I don't have something, if I can't be doing something to feel like maybe I'm making some headway I'm going to go crazy."

"And I understand that feeling, but Edward, you need to slow down. You need to think. Do your thing, get into his head. Think about what his next move would be. Stop going backwards, you are only going to come up with an interesting story that leads to nowhere. Think about him _now_, what he is going to do next, what he wants, what he needs, what is driving him. That is the weird skill you have got, so use it," Emmett told him.

Edward took a deep breath.

"Why don't you have another look at the profile the FBI did on the kidnapper back in the day while I call some friends from a few major airlines and I can chase down this half assed lead we have here," he suggested, handing a thick manila folder over to Edward. He took it in his hands, felt the weight of it before setting it down. He had read the file before, several times, but he opened it again and set to work driving through it again.

It was the same as it had been the first time he had read it and every subsequent time after that. But this time when he was reading he was getting the feeling he was missing something, that there was something about him he should have been getting and was tripping over it every time he tried to figure it out. He was sitting with his head leaned back, eyes closed, just trying to _think_ when he heard Emmett put the phone down with a satisfied click and call his name.

He looked up at Emmett who then proceeded to tell him that he had it on good authority, although that authority wished to remain nameless that James Alistair had in fact made a trip out to Seattle in the December of the previous year. He had left December first and returned on December fifth, having flown Delta airlines. Emmett had looked into it and he had checked into a Hyatt hotel upon his arrival, but didn't pay for anything other than his stay there, no room service, no phone calls, no late night pornos. Edward nodded along to his explanation and thanked him, still feeling far away.

"You look like you are trying to solve a Rubik's cube or recite pi to more than three digits, what is going on in your head?" Emmett asked.

Edward just sat there for another moment. What was with him that he was missing? What had he not seen, or what _had_ he seen that he wasn't putting together? What was it about him that made him need to chase down Bella, why couldn't he just find someone else after she had run? He was obsessed, obviously, but what was it about her that had latched onto him the way it had?

And then like an explosion, things rushed through his head with startling rapidity. The things he had written on her wall, the words he used were all so possessive. He called her Bella, like he was familiar with her, like he had some sort of privileges. In his mind, she was his. It was why he couldn't get past her; it was why her running had only made him follow her.

And it occurred to him that the reason her bedroom had seen the most damage, and her bed in specific, had been because he knew that she had slept with someone else. He knew that she and Edward had been together and it infuriated him, the idea that someone had touched something that was his. It was why he had left the condom untouched in the trash, why he had left the two cups in the drying rack; he had been furious and he wanted Edward to be punished for what he had done. Bella was his and anyone who thought they had the right to touch her, to claim her, was wrong, and deserved to be penalized for it.

That inspired two separate thoughts. The first was that James must have a vantage point to look into Bella's apartment. They had been trying to figure out how he had known so many things about her, but the idea of him being able to watch her from some private space made sense. The apartment building across the street from Bella's would act perfectly, whether he watched from an apartment or from the roof.

The other was that he knew exactly how to draw out James and do it in a way that would direct his anger not at Bella, but at himself. If he could find a way to provoke James' possessive nature, to antagonize him about Edward's own intimacy with her, he had a distinct notion that James would have to retaliate. And when he did, Edward would be ready.

"I know that look. What did you figure out?"

"We need to look at the building across from Bella's," Edward announced. "That is where he has been watching her. He knew about…us, Emmett. He knew. It is why he destroyed her bed like he did, why he didn't even knock over the trash can or smash the two coffee cups in the kitchen. He _saw_ it, he saw _us_, and it infuriated him. I wondered what was with all the insults, especially his calling her a whore so many times, there would be no reason for that unless something had set him off, and obviously it did. The best vantage point would be from the building across from Bella's. From several rooms in that building and the roof you could see right into several rooms of her apartment. He would have been able to see her every day, into her bedroom, into her living room; anything he wanted to know, he could have seen."

"So we need to stake out the building then," Emmett said. But Edward shook his head.

"No, he knows Bella won't be back there any time soon. He won't go back there now. We need to draw him out. He isn't going to show his colors unless we make him."

"Edward, I know I told you to get into his head, but I don't like where you are going with this."

"What other choice do we have? You said it yourself, we can backtrack and come up with nothing, or we can think forward, anticipate what he is going to do and take him down on our own terms," Edward argued.

"Anticipating his next move and provoking him into doing something dangerous are two different things. The difference being that one of them does not involve antagonizing a serial murdering sociopath into violent, potentially lethal retaliation."

"I don't know what else to do, Emmett. I don't know how else to make her safe than to try this, than to make him come after me so he won't go after her. Do you have any idea how scared I am right now? Being away from her terrifies me because I know something could happen and I wouldn't be there with her to keep her safe. Imagine being away from Rose when you knew something bad could happen to her, something bad was _going_ to happen to her; would you be able to think sanely?"

"Edward, I get that you love her, I get it, I probably got it before you did, being the idiot that you are. But you aren't talking about tricking some petty thief into a dummy theft, you are talking about goading someone who is very clearly insane, not afraid to kill anyone who gets in his way, not to mention smart, careful and a fucking _cop_. And maybe you're right, if it were Rosalie I would think the same thing, but we need another plan of attack. There has to be something better than this," Emmett argued.

Edward looked at him for a moment.

"What then, what is better than this?" he asked.

"I don't know. Shit, kid, you're the one who makes up the plans, I just come along for the ride and act tough," Emmett joked. But the joke fell flat as soon as it left his mouth and he knew it. His smile faded immediately.

"Fuck, you mean to do this, don't you?"

"I don't _want_ to, but we don't have a lot of time, and it is the only thing I know will work," Edward answered. Emmett paused for a long moment.

"Can it wait a day? Can we have one night to think about this, to figure out the particulars before we go jumping off the ship of sanity into the sea of idiocy and probable death?"

Edward smiled humorlessly.

"Listen, tomorrow is Friday. The chances of him going after on a day he has to work are slimmer because he won't have as much time to work with. But the weekend would be a prime opportunity. The unis would be distracted, wanting to go home to their families or college football or whatever else. He would have as much time as he needed to make sure everything went right. And I might be wrong, but I have the feeling he is going to act soon, days, this weekend if I am onto him the way I think I am. He wants her, and he wants her now, more than ever because of what happened last night. So let's take tonight and all of tomorrow to sort our shit out and then Saturday we can regroup. Is that a more acceptable plan?"

"If by more acceptable you mean it sounds like something I would like to do less than get my appendix taken out without anesthesia but more than just jumping blindly into annoying a serial killer, then yes, that is more acceptable."

"I knew you would come around," Edward joked darkly. Emmett only shrugged and made an indistinguishable noise in reply.

"I'm going to go home to Rose, and I suggest you go find Bella and make certain she knows what your plan is. She isn't going to like it, but she would like it even less if you didn't tell her," Emmett suggested.

Edward nodded in silent assent. He knew she would hate the idea of him putting himself in danger, especially after what had happened to Jake. But he also knew that what he had said to Emmett was true—they were running out of time faster than he would have liked to admit and he didn't have any other ideas.

So he went home, walking slowly down the street, forgoing the train for the moment and just taking in the late summer air. He had promised to bring Bella dinner this morning, before all these things had happened, back when she had just been Bella and he had just been Edward and they could talk like people instead of him having to be a detective and her a victim.

So when he finally got back to his apartment he immediately went to the kitchen. He needed to make something that wouldn't take too long that she would want, so he remembered one of their many conversations and got out a skillet, and proceeded to make two of the most perfect grilled cheese sandwiches on earth. He heated up some tomato soup and put in one of his travel thermoses and along with the sandwiches in a Tupperware, put it all in a large brown paper bag and headed out the door.

On his way over to the hotel Bella was in he stopped at the liquor store and bought a rather sizeable bottle of vodka, and put it too in the large brown paper bag before continuing on his way. When he arrived he said hello to the uniforms in an undercover car in the parking lot and had to show his credentials to the officer inside the room. He was glad he asked, and told him so. If he had let anyone in the room without asking he would have wanted to knock his teeth in.

And then he remembered that the person after her was someone with credentials just like his to show at the door and his stomach bottomed out. The uni left and as soon as he was gone Bella launched herself at him, colliding with his body, and forcing him to collide with the wall, with more force than he expected, so much that he almost dropped dinner and a thirty five dollar bottle of alcohol. He wanted to surround her completely, but managed only a half hug with his package in his other hand.

She didn't look too pleased when he told her they needed to talk about some things, but she _did_ looked perfectly happy to eat a grilled cheese and a cup full of tomato soup while Edward just drank from the thermos. They were able to spend a few moments without any real difficulty or pain or fear passing between them or behind her eyes. He felt like he was lying to her, just sitting there not telling her what was going to happen. But she seemed happy to eat dinner with him, to act as though everything was normal even though it wasn't.

"So," she said after having finished her grilled cheese and polished off the cup of tomato soup, "what do we need to talk about?"

Edward capped his thermos with a sigh and pushed aside the napkins he had brought with him, spreading his hands flatly across the table. After a few false starts he managed to tell Bella much of what he had told Emmett, and had to add a few details of which she was unaware, such as that the man they suspected was a police officer with the vice unit. He told her what he had figured out and his plan of action, tentative as it was.

At first, she sat in silence and said nothing at all. Edward, during her silence, pulled out the bottle of vodka he had bought and put it on the table, looking for something like a cup he could use since he had forgotten in his rush to get to Bella, to get some from his apartment. But she just took the bottle off the table, pulled the cap off and tipped it back into her mouth. She handled the swig like someone might have taken a pull of beer or a sip of wine.

"I have to tell you, that might be one of the sexiest things you have ever done," Edward said. She glared at him.

"Now is not the time for joking, Edward Cullen, about anything, especially how sexy I may or may not be. You just talked about going out and annoying, no, not just annoying, _deliberately provoking_ a serial killer. He's a serial killer, Edward. I appreciate the sentiment, but I would rather you not get killed because of me."

Edward took the bottle out of her hands and took a drink just like she had and put it down after.

"I don't intend to get killed, Bella. And that isn't what I am doing; what I am trying to do is get his attention so he will leave you alone. If I can draw him out, maybe I can get to him before he gets to you. That is what I am trying to do."

Bella took the bottle from the table and took another swig.

"That is _beside_ the point, and you know it. You are purposefully putting yourself into a dangerous situation when we don't even know if he is going to try anything," she argued.

"But he is, Bella. I am not trying to scare you, but he is. And soon. Probably in the next few days. If I don't do something, he is going to come after you. And if that happens…if he gets to you and I could have stopped it, if there is something I could have done, and I didn't do it, even if it is dangerous, I would _never_ forgive myself. You, Bella…you are my life. You are everything that is good in my world, whether that is wrong or right, too soon or whatever, I don't care. I know this seems desperate, but I promise I will be safe. Emmett said he will be there to help―"

"Emmett is in on this? I cannot believe I am saying that one would think he would have more sense than you, but I was hoping he would be the sane one in this situation."

"That is what you are taking away from this? Bella, I am trying to tell you that I love you! Too much to let something happen to you, not now, not after I just found you," Edward said. His voice had started off loud, almost agitated, but it ended soft. He couldn't be angry with her. He knew _why_ she was protesting. He could see why, from her point of view, the idea would be terrifying. Hell, from _his_ point of view it was terrifying. But it was no less terrifying than the idea of having to live without her.

"Oh, Edward," Bella said, reaching across the table and touching his face. He closed his eyes and turned into her hand. "You know…I…of course I love you."

"Then let me help you," Edward insisted.

"I couldn't ask you to, Edward. _Because_ I love you."

"You aren't asking."

"You're right. I'm not asking. I am telling you not to do this."

Edward stood up, turned toward the window and said nothing. He heard Bella sigh and heard her rise and join him at the window.

"Someone who helped me has already died, Edward. Someone who helped me when I was a child, when I was eight, thirteen years ago. He is dead. Because he got mixed up in all of this he is dead. I didn't really know him too well. I was just a little girl and everything. Other than to call on my birthday and make sure I had survived another year, we didn't keep in touch. But he is _dead_.

"You, Edward…you have come closer to figuring out the what and who of what happened to me than anyone else has been. You know who it was. You understand better than anyone what he is capable of. You know how to get inside his head. And I _love_ you. I didn't love Jake. He was a great man and he did a lot for me, but I didn't love him. But I do love you. Do you know what it would do to me if you died? Do you have _any_ idea how long it has been since I trusted anyone enough to let them in the way I let you in? I had sex _once_ before being with you, not because I didn't want to, but any time anyone touched me I would have a panic attack and have to be taken to the hospital and given a tranquilizer. The only time I have ever felt really safe, the only time I have ever felt really comfortable since I was eight years old is when I am with you. Why would you take that away from me?"

Edward stared at Bella for a long moment, her hands on her hips, looking both furious and terrified. He took her hands off her hips, and brought them to his face, pressing his lips to the backs of her hands and then to her palms before pulling her gently to him, wrapping his arms around her when she stepped against his body. He felt her breathe out a sigh as he held her tightly.

"Didn't I tell you that I would always come back to you?" he inquired. She drew back enough to look up at him.

"Yes, I am just worried you are going to come back to me dead."

"Should I amend my promise, then? I will always come back to you, alive and well and fully functioning," he said quietly.

"This isn't funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny."

"Promise me, Edward. Promise me you won't do this," she begged. Edward set his mouth.

"I can't promise you that, because I would be lying to you. And I don't want to lie to you."

She frowned and withdrew from him completely.

"After everything I just said, you are still going to do this? You are _still_ going to go after him?"

"Before he goes after you? Absolutely. Bella, believe me, I don't like this any more than you do. But the options are either you _definitely_ get abducted and tortured and killed or I _maybe_ get hurt. Just trust me, can you just trust me? This is how it has to be, if I want to keep you safe."

She crossed her arms and glared at him for a moment before pulling her fingers through her hair with her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I am going to be okay," he said, his voice lower.

"You can't know that."

"I know. But the more I say it, the more I believe it. Can we just spend some time together and not think about this? I want to be with you right now and not have to be angry at each other or scared."

"You just want me to forget what you just told me?"

"That's the idea, at least, for a little while."

Edward held out his hands for her and she took a tentative step in his direction. He could tell she was still tense, probably unsure if she was angry with him or not. But he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close, took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead and her temples and her cheeks and the line of her jaw and then up to her mouth. Her lips parted immediately and he felt and heard her sigh as she twisted her fingers into his hair, her arms up around his neck.

"Make me forget it, Edward," she supplicated, breathless, into his ear as his lips turned down her neck. She tasted like salt and sugar and the ambiguous taste of joy and love and heaven. "Make love to me please."

"Oh Bella," Edward said, bringing his mouth up to hers for another kiss, "you will not ever have to ask more than once."

They went to the bed and Edward did make love to her, just like she asked. He was going to ask about protection, but she retrieved a condom from her bag, saying she took some with her on the off chance they might need them. The red tint to her cheeks only made her look lovelier and Edward dragged her back into bed without another word. Even though it wasn't under the best of circumstances, he was happy, more than happy, to get to show her how much he loved her, to get to be close to her, skin on skin. He didn't feel as good as he did when he got to just touch her. They took as much as they dared reveling in skin and kisses and touching, unsure of when someone was going to come to get back on shift to watch over Bella, or wonder what was going on, or want to check in.

Clothing was found again, under the bed, across the room, and put back on with immeasurable reluctance.

Almost immediately after they were dressed a knock came to the door, and a female officer was there to check in for her shift with Bella that night. Edward let her in and Bella said she wanted to walk to the vending machine for a candy and Edward said he would walk her so they could have a few minutes to themselves.

They walked down the hall to the vending machine and Bella put money in it and stared at the case, deliberating.

"Do what you have to do, Edward. I don't like this, but I know I couldn't stop you even if I wanted to. If you think this is right, then I am going to trust you, even though I don't agree," Bella said, never taking her eyes off of the selections in front of her.

"Are you going to be angry with me?" he asked. She hesitated.

"No," she eventually sighed. "I'm not good at being mad at you. Just please don't get hurt. That sounds so stupid considering what you are going to do, but I have to say it."

"I understand. I promise you, Bella, I promise I will be as careful as is humanly possible. I _will_ come back to you and I _will_ be fine."

Bella pressed a combination of buttons and down fell a Twix. She opened the package and handed one stick to Edward, immediately biting into the other. They stood in silence eating candy and then walked back in a similar fashion. Edward picked up his brown paper bag, with his thermos and still mostly full bottle of vodka that he planned to put a rather large dent into when he got home. He gave the officer instructions not to let anyone into the room unless it was him, Emmett, their captain, or the officer meant to relieve her in six hours. She nodded, seeming to understand his severity.

He said goodbye to Bella and they lingered for just a moment after their words of parting, in which he told her without words how much he loved her, and promised again to come back to her.

She smiled at him, her lip between her teeth and it was that expression that Edward remembered as he was walking home and as he was getting into his apartment and as he opened the bottle of vodka and sat at his kitchen table and had a drink.

It was her smile, her sweetness, her kisses, her love, that he remembered as he planned how to draw out the bastard trying to kill her.


	8. I Remember

**Hello faithful readers. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting so long. I've had the flue for the past few weeks, so it's been tough going for me. But I found time among all my make up work to write this because well, I love Copward as much you guys do, and I absolutely _adore_ all you readers, so, here it is, the next chapter! I hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

I.

Edward Cullen was an idiot. It wasn't as though they just told you where a witness under protective custody was being held. In fact, unless you were the captain of the division, the detectives working the case or one of the uniforms on the detail itself you weren't allowed to know, even if you asked. James could have asked anyone on the force and they wouldn't have told him, couldn't have tried to look into the records and would have been denied access. He was sure he could have found a way around it eventually. But Cullen, he made it so much easier. There was no lying to superiors, no having to sneak around, no stealing pass codes and risking his career and cover. All he had to do was follow Cullen and he would find her.

He saw them together, walking down the breezeway that connected the rooms of the cheap motel they had stuck Bella in. She looked sullen, wounded. He looked dangerously close to the same place, defeated. But they were together. He was closer to her than James had been in years and it made him furious. He clenched his hands into fists and began running back to his apartment. He should wait. He knew he should wait for a better time; the weekend would be better. But he couldn't stand it, not one more fucking second of seeing her walking around in the open. He also couldn't stand the knowledge that with her disheveled hair and slightly mussed clothing she had probably just gotten taken to bed again by the son of a bitch Cullen. The longer he left her alone, the more time they would have together and it made James' blood boil.

So he began making his way, sprinting across the city back to his place of residence where he kept the things he was going to need to take her in. A gun with a silencer for the uniforms in the unmarked car outside and for the uniform inside the room, chloroform for Bella so he could take her without her causing too much of a disturbance and calling attention to herself, the keys to the place he was going to take her. The location had been set up for a while now; he had prepared it weeks ago and had checked on it several times since. Each time was just like the time before—everything in place, nothing missing, no activity around the place that would make him think it was being watched.

He knew he was covered at the warehouse. When he got back to his apartment he gathered his things and double checked everything with the kind of methodical obsession that had kept him from ever getting caught. He took one last look at the Polaroid he kept on his refrigerator of Bella from when she was a child. It only strengthened his resolve.

He was taking that bitch tonight.

II.

After Edward left, Bella went back to her hotel room and turned on the television and pretended to watch it if only to distract her senses while her mind was reeling. How could he think it was a good idea to go after the psycho that was coming after her? To catch him was one thing; to lure him out on purpose was another thing completely. He wanted to goad a sociopath. That was like jumping shark infested waters during a feeding frenzy. You would have to be insane to think that was a good idea.

_He's not insane_ she reminded herself _he is just trying to keep you safe_. It made her skin crawl to think of Edward anywhere near the killer, let alone trying to draw him out, even if it was to keep her safe. She knew he understood why it scared her so bad, the idea of him doing what he was about to do, but she also knew he was the most stubborn man she had ever met. If he had made up his mind, he wasn't going to change it, especially if he thought he was doing the right thing.

She would have thought his valiant efforts to keep her safe were sweet if they weren't so dangerous.

She had this awful feeling in the pit of her stomach that she might not ever see him again as he walked away from her, and she had been working ever since to make it go away. But the mindless television show wasn't distracting her well enough. She wished Edward had left the bottle of vodka behind with her. Likely he wanted it for himself, and she couldn't really blame him for that. It just wasn't as though she could go out and buy her own. She needed a stiff drink or something else to just make her think about something else for a little while. She was about to ask the officer in the room with her if she would mind going out for a quick liquor store run when there was a knock on the door.

"Must be my dinner," the officer said with a shrug. She rose from where she had been sitting at the little round table and went to the door.

"Identify yourself," she said.

"It's Officer Daniels, I have your dinner. Sorry it took so long, they messed something up and had to redo it," a voice answered. She asked for credentials and looked through the peep hole. Bella turned her attention from the door and back to the television, trying to concentrate on something else.

She heard the door open. She heard the officer start to speak. And then she heard two high pitched noises, quiet, like puffs of air. She turned around, curious and the officer that had been standing there a moment ago to get her dinner was on the floor, a bullet hole in her forehead. Bella's mouth fell open. She wanted to scream, but she didn't know how to make noise. Her brain kicked on an instant too late. She watched, passive, as the man holding the gun entered the room. He was tall, blond, very plain looking, just shy of being handsome. There was something strange and cold in his expression, and for a moment, Bella thought he was going to shoot her.

And then she understood.

And then she screamed.

She called out for help, but she had a feeling that the officers outside were already dead and there was nothing anyone could do for her. She just hoped to cause enough noise that someone came to check things out. Maybe if they realized she was gone soon enough they would be able to get find her before he had caused too much damage. Maybe she wouldn't be dead. She felt crippling nausea rip through her with a sudden burst of fear and she started to choke on her own screams as she practically fell off the bed she was on, trying to get away. There was a window in the bathroom she might be able to fit through if she could get there, and so she turned to run, to just get in the bathroom, get the door closed behind her and give her a moment to maneuver. But as soon as her back was turned there was an arm around her middle and a hand over her mouth and nose, a cloth between his skin and hers. She breathed in once and felt sick, twice and felt sleepy, thrice and she was asleep.

III.

Edward had fallen asleep at his kitchen table, his forehead against his arm, the bottle of vodka not far from him. He had powered through almost all of it, trying to figure out how he was going to lure Alistair into the open. He had almost gotten a handle on it, too, when he just couldn't take the mental strain anymore. He needed a few hours sleep before he got up again and finished puzzling this thing out. Then he would talk it over with Emmett. He had put his head down and felt like he had only been asleep for a minute when his phone started to go off. He almost let it go to voice mail, but decided it might be important and pulled himself out of sleep to answer it.

"Lo?" he mumbled into the phone. He rubbed his eyes to try and rid them of sleep as he shook the grogginess from his head.

"Edward…you need to come down to the motel right now," Emmett's voice said across the line. There was a kind of urgency his in voice that made every cell in Edward's body jump to life. He felt sick for no real reason. His hands started shaking.

"Emmett, is something wrong?" he asked slowly.

"Edward, fuck…she's gone, Edward. The unis in the car and in her room were all shot, double tapped, once in the chest, once in the head. There wasn't evidence of struggle so he probably drugged her, but you really should get down here. The faster you come check this out, the faster we are likely to find her."

Edward said something that sounded like an assertion of intent to do just that and then he put down the phone without bothering to end the call. He felt his hands trembling uncontrollably. He managed to stand up and make it to the sink before he started throwing up. Bella was gone. Not just gone, but taken. James had taken her. He had gotten to her even in protective custody. Edward had known he was going to do it, but he had left her behind, left her with people who didn't know what the fuck was going on because it was fucking protocol, procedure. He had left her and because he had left her she had gotten taken. She might as well have been alone.

He was sick for a few minutes before he got a handle on himself and shut down the part of himself that was having a massive attack of pity. It wasn't about him. It was about her. He needed to snap out of the fugue state of shock and horror and focus.

"Fucking _focus_," he shouted at himself. His empty apartment echoed the sound briefly. He turned on the sink, ducked his head under the water to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth, went to the table, got his wallet, his keys and his gun and was out the door without another thought.

The sidewalk beneath his feet felt good as he pounded the pavement. He was running. He could have taken a cab, taken the train, gone to the station and taken a patrol car, but he wanted to run. He needed to get the panic out of his blood. He didn't know any better way than to run it out. His keys jingled in his pocket every time his feet hit the ground. The weight of the gun on his belt reminded him what he was planning on doing with it when he found James with every downward tug it made.

He made it to the motel in ten minutes, winded, not any less scared, but tired enough that he didn't want to hurt someone anymore. As soon as the strange sadness had worn off, he had felt a surge of rage that he didn't know how to control. If there was a single hair on Bella's head displaced Edward was sure he was going to put James through more pain than any other living being had ever experienced, his own victims included.

When he got to the motel it was lit up with the flashing blue and red of a dozen patrol cars. He wanted to scream at them that shouldn't be here. Bella wasn't here anymore and they damn sure weren't going to find anything that Edward himself couldn't find. They should be out looking for her. They should be pounding the fucking pavement, just like he wanted to be, until they found something to help narrow down where he might have taken her. Hell, they could still be on their way there. It hadn't been that long since she was taken.

Edward flashed his badge at the uni at the barricade and fell into step with Emmett almost immediately.

"What have we got?" Edward asked. Emmett and he began climbing the stairs to the second level.

"Have a look for yourself."

Edward pushed past some of the other uniforms who were standing around interviewing some of the other guests at the motel or being completely useless and stood in the doorway. The officer that was supposed to be protecting her was lying on the floor, her blood a red halo around her head. She was shot once in the chest, once in the head. Edward glanced backward behind him at the door. There didn't seem to be any forced entry. He stepped back to look at it closer at the door and found nothing to suggest it had be kicked in or jammed open. Whoever had done this had been _let_ in the room.

He turned from the door and looked further into the room. At the little round table there was a magazine, folded to a page and left sitting open, probably from the dead officer. Everything else looked mostly the same. The sheets on the bed looked a bit askew like Bella had slid off of it in a hurry. Other than that the only thing different was that the bathroom door was open. Edward could almost see it. Bella had watched in shock as the officer was killed. She had scampered off the bed, desperate to get into the bathroom to try and get out somehow, probably through the little window above the sink. But he had gotten to her before she could get the door shut.

The idea of James putting his hands on Bella made his skin break out in goose flesh. It made him want to throw up more. But he swallowed it down, _for_ Bella. He knew if he was going to find her he was going to have to forget the personal and operate as best he could as a cop.

"Edward, there really isn't much more here for you to see, I just thought you would want to see the scene yourself. You are going to need to get into the fucker's head and start to figure out what the next step is," Emmett said quietly. Edward nodded, not looking at him yet. He was looking at the open bathroom door, the window over the sink. He was thinking about how he wished she had been just one second fast, or him one second slower.

"I'm done here," he told his partner. Emmett didn't say anything, just waved the unis and the forensics guys out of the way as they tried to get out the door. The men and women parted like the red sea. Edward had been very careful not to be overly affectionate with Bella in front of anyone, to not make it obvious his very real, very overwhelming passion for her, but there must have been something in his face and expression, because the room was bathed in careful quietness as he left it. He thought momentarily that maybe it was a bad thing that his distress was showing so readable on his face, but it occurred to him that it didn't matter. Nothing mattered—not what people thought, not this job, not his whole fucking career—none of it unless he could get her back.

When they got outside they walked over to the squad car Emmett had from the station and they sat inside it for one second. Edward closed his eyes and thought. If he were James, what would his next move be?

"James is methodical when it comes to the space he uses. If he took Bella tonight, we have to assume he already had somewhere picked out, somewhere probably already secured and prepared. He isn't new to this, he wouldn't be scrambling trying to get ready for her; he would have everything already set up before he snatched her," Edward said, eyes closed still.

"So we need to be searching abandoned buildings, warehouses, foreclosures, that kind of thing," Emmett said back.

"No, that will take too long. She could be dead by then. We need to narrow it down. How did he find the venue last time, it was somewhere he saw on his job, right?"

"Yeah, part of the beat he walked in Seattle."

Edward opened his eyes and looked at the roof of the car.

"He still works vice here, only as a detective. If he took a location from the beat he walked in Seattle, it is a reasonable assumption that he found a new location in the same way. So we should look into his last six months of cases and see if any of the locations of his latest drug busts fit the kind of description we would be looking for—abandoned, in an isolated part of town, not guarded by any sort of security features," Edward told him.

"That sounds like a good idea, comrade; my only problem is that we can't just go digging through a cop's cases without someone noticing. We need to take this to the higher ups, and if that blows up in our faces we will be major leagued fucked from here to Canada."

"We don't have _time_ for that, Emmett!" Edward shouted, suddenly sitting up, becoming animated. "We don't have time to go through the proper fucking channels, to put in requests and file official documents. We don't have time. Every minute we sit here trying to figure this all out is another minute Bella is in danger. Every fucking second I am sitting here doing nothing is another second he could be hurting her." He stopped, choking on his own words. He looked at Emmett and felt his chest tighten unexpectedly. "He could be hurting her, Emmett," he whispered. Emmett said nothing.

"I can pull some strings. It's going to cost me a favor that I was saving for a rainy day, but if today isn't a right fucking downpour, I don't know what is," Emmett said back. He started the car and began driving. Edward was silently thankful. He wanted to say thank you, but he thought it he tried to speak again he might just burst into tears. Edward wasn't the kind of man to cry in front of his friends, his partner, or anyone else for that matter, but he couldn't stop the feeling in his stomach that it was somehow all his fault. He had left her and when he had, she had gotten taken. She might be being tortured that very second, and he wasn't there to help her, to stop her pain, to protect her like he promised he would. How many times had he told her he was going to make everything okay? How many times had he promised to keep her safe, no matter what?

There was only so many times he could promise something and fail, only so much stress and thinking about if she was hurting or scared without him that he could take before he was going to snap. He didn't want to lose it before he got to Bella. Once she was safe, once she was home, in his arms, he could let go of it all, but for the moment, he needed to hold on to the fear, the bittersweet taste of rage in the back of his mouth that he knew was just one wrong move away from exploding.

When they arrived at the Vice station house, Edward was confused, but he didn't ask any questions as he and Emmett got out of the car. They walked in silent lock step side by side up the front steps, through the door and to the receptionist. Emmett asked for someone Edward didn't know, and when she told them to go straight back to his office, Edward said nothing but followed behind. They weaved through a set of desks not unlike their own, to the back of the large open squad room to the office that sat unceremoniously, with its door open. Emmett walked in first and stayed by the door, closing it quickly behind him after Edward had entered. The man at the desk looked up and his eyes widened when he saw Emmett.

"Emmett, what can I do you for?" the man asked. He was an interesting looking man, not exactly good looking, but not exactly unattractive, and there was something in his eyes that made Edward uncomfortable. There was a calculating edge behind his friendly smile that made him look dangerous if you knew how to look.

"Felix, I have to cash in a favor," Emmett said, not bothering to smile.

"What kind of favor?" Felix inquired back.

"The kind that makes us even for October 2002," Emmett stated. Felix's eyes widened again but he nodded. He got up and closed the shades to the windows in his office and then sat back down.

"That's a big chip to cash in. What do you need?"

"Your detective, James Alistair, we need to take a look at his past six months worth of cases without the whole paperwork clusterfuck and proper channels bullshit."

Felix exhaled in a whistle.

"You could get a whole lot of people in trouble for this, me included," he warned.

"Your ass wouldn't even be here to _get_ in trouble if it weren't for me. This isn't some fucking turf war or a vendetta. We have reason to believe that Alistair is involved in some really dirty shit and we need to figure out where he's holding the operation before some really terrible shit goes down."

"What kind of dirty shit? You think he's on the take or something?"

"I really don't have time to explain the whole thing to you, Felix. This isn't story time, its do what I ask you to do time, or else someone could get hurt."

Felix closed his eyes and bridged his fingers for a moment, thinking. He then got up, signaled for them to follow him and left through the side door to his office. Emmett and Edward walked behind him silently, down the hall, down a flight of stairs and then into a room full of filing cabinets.

"This cabinet," Felix said, tapping a large green metal cabinet, "is all of Detective Alistair's case files, they are filed chronologically, so it shouldn't be too hard to find what you're looking for. This is a huge breach in policy, Emmett; I could get some serious flack for this. We are even now."

Emmett thanked him and then Felix left and closed the door behind him, leaving Emmett and Edward alone.

"Do I want to know what happened in October of 2002?" Edward asked as Emmett opened the filing cabinet, revealing the manila folders within. He flipped through them, checking the dates. Eventually he found the cases that were six months ago and grabbed all of the cases from that point forward in his monstrous hand. He handed half to Edward and took the other half himself. They sat on the floor and started flipping through things.

"Felix and I used to both be in Vice, we were partners. We had been going after this drug ring, they dipped into all sorts of bad shit, human trafficking, coke, heroin, guns; you name it, they were in it. We got a good tip that they were moving a large stash through the city and we were given the address of one of the houses they were going to be stashing it and when. So of course we got the big guns together, planned a raid, the whole nine fucking yards. Only we get there, and there is nothing there. No one from the ring, not a single fucking speck of drugs, nothing. Of course Felix and I were pissed, but it only made us more determined.

"The way we figured it, they had a big stash coming in and wanted us distracted, so they had someone call in a fake tip to get us off track so they could move it without having to worry about us being on their asses. So we traced the call to a cell phone owned by one of the periphery members of the ring, just a small time numbers runner guy, no major play. We took him in, got some real intel, and decided to just go in Felix and I. It wasn't a stash house, it was just a place where some of the guys hung out, they usually had a good amount of drugs on them, maybe some underground sex trade workers in the basement. We figured we would scope it out. When we got there, there were six guys, all probably packing heat. So we radioed for some backup."

Emmett stopped for a minute and looked somewhere past Edward, like he was remembering something he didn't really want to remember. Edward was about to tell him he didn't have to keep telling him if he didn't want to, but Emmett resumed his story before Edward could speak.

"Before the backup got there we heard a woman scream from inside. We were real hero cops back then, you know, the kind who thing the vest makes you invincible and that doing the right thing is more important than continuing living. So we busted in there, no idea when the backup would be there. They started shooting, so we started shooting. I took out three of them. Two of them surrendered. The last of them had the woman we heard scream and was using her as a shield. He had a gun to her head and said that he would kill her if we didn't let him go. I was prepared to hunt his ass down wherever he went if he would let her go. She just kept saying 'mis niños, mis niños'. She was talking about her kids, Edward. She had kids. Felix wasn't having any of it though, he wasn't thinking. The adrenaline had gone to his head and he just wasn't looking at it clearly. He backed the guy into a corner and told him to give it up before he ended up like his dead friends. He must have heard the sirens because he started freaking out. I tried to calm him down. The last thing I wanted was some prick with a gun and a hostage losing his shit.

"The sound of him cocking that gun was loudest thing in that whole fucking house, even though everyone was yelling. When I heard a gun go off I thought he had shot the woman. But then I looked at Felix and I realized that even though he didn't have a clear shot, he had taken one anyway. The woman got clipped in the arm and the motherfucker holding on to her caught it in the stomach, which I've been told is one of the most painful places to be shot. He let go of her and by the time any of us moved the backup was there. The guy was moaning in pain on the floor, three other men were dead and two were in cuffs in the kitchen. And that woman…she got hit in the arm and it tore right through her brachial artery. She bled out before the paramedics even got there. None of us realized how serious it was until we saw she wasn't moving. She didn't do anything wrong, Edward. She was someone they had kidnapped for their sex trade. She had three kids, two boys and a girl. Without her they went into foster care. He didn't mean to but he killed an innocent woman. And I backed him up to the brass. I told them that he had a clean shot, but at the last minute the woman moved, obscuring the path. I lied because I wanted to protect my partner, because we had to stick together, because I knew he had just made a bad call and he hadn't meant for her to get hurt. I didn't realize that it was going to eat at me like it does. Her blood is on my hands, too."

Emmett stopped flipping through files and sighed. Edward didn't know what to say for a long moment. What did you say to a good cop who made one bad call? It was either screw over his partner who made a mistake, or tell the truth and get a reputation as being the kind of guy who rats out his partner. There was no good choice there. Edward didn't judge him for a second.

"That's one of the things they don't tell you about being a cop. Sometimes you don't get to be the good guy. Sometimes, you have to lie; sometimes you have to go against everything you think is right because you know that the truth won't matter as much as it should," Emmett said quietly. He looked at Edward, who simply gazed back at him and nodded. Emmett grinned half heartedly and then looked back down at his files.

They sat in silence for the most part, flipping through pages. Edward put aside files he thought might have something useful, and had a stack of six by the time he had gone through his entire half. He went and looked at them in more detail and took out his notepad to write things down. There was an abandoned warehouse by the pier, a condemned building right outside the city, and an abandoned depot near the River Way. He jotted those down, ignoring the others because they were either too populated or too well protected. Anything with security cameras was obviously off the list, as was anything where someone might hear Bella or accidentally come across them.

He saw Emmett was doing the same thing as he stacked the files back together in order. When Emmett was done they put the files back and discussed the locations they had flagged. Emmett had written down the address of an abandoned theatre in the theatre district, a stash house in Cambridge, and a couple closed down stores in some of the shadier parts of the city. They had seven locations to look into. Just the two of them, it wouldn't take too long to run down all the spots.

"Should we split up to check this out?" Edward asked, thinking only of how much faster it would be. But Emmett shook his head.

"If you think I am leaving you alone with that psycho for a second you are out of your mind. One of you will end up dead, and even though I really hope it would be him, I am not taking any chances. If he has hurt her, Edward, you know you won't be able to keep from going after him."

Edward felt that same swell of fury come up over him like a wave. The idea of her in pain was more than he could sanely bear. It made him itch to hurt someone. Emmett was right; it wouldn't be wise to find him when he was alone. He wouldn't be thinking of the smart thing, he would be thinking of how he could most hurt him.

"Besides," Emmett added with a grin, "you might need help getting rid of the body."

Edward's anger dissolved with laughter. Only Emmett could make him laugh in a situation like that. They left the station house and got into their car, figuring out the most expedient route to check out each of the locales. Edward looked out at the city as Emmett started the car.

_Hang on, Bella_, he thought, _I'm coming.

* * *

_

**I really loved developing Emmett's character in this chapter. He is such a good man, even something not so great was awesome to write. If you thought it was awesome, let me know!**


	9. Tear You Apart

I.

He had watched her enough over the years to know she was beautiful, but being so close to her confirmed it without a single doubt. That long hair, cascading over her slumped shoulders, like a wave of mahogany curls. The delicate slope of her nose, the red tint of her cheeks, the bow of her mouth. And her eyes, when they fluttered open, so full of confusion and then panic—panic had never looked as lovely as it did in her beautiful brown eyes. He could almost smell the fear coming off her skin in a thin sheen of sweat. It made him dizzy to be so near to her. He reached out o touch her face, the lovely pale, smooth skin he had admired from afar for over a decade. She immediately flinched back. He smiled. The fear surged. He felt intoxicated by it.

"I hated you once," he admitted absently, staring at her, "because I thought you had ruined everything. You made me…impotent in a way, and I detested you for it. Because it was your fault, you know that I couldn't complete my work after you ran away. But now I see you were just extended the game. Your turn wasn't over, and you were giving me more time to think out mine. We are like chess pieces, Bella, you and I are, black versus white, strong versus weak, predator versus prey. But you, my dear, are a pawn, and I am the knight, charging down the squares to overtake you. You should just accept it now."

For a moment her eyes were flickering in terror, behind him, around her, trying to figure her way out of her bind. He saw her struggle, testing how tightly she was lashed to the table. It was a brilliant thing he had found, really. The tables they used for lethal injections spread the victim out like they were being crucified, legs straight down and held there, arms out lengthwise. She was spread beautifully; his work would look astonishing when he was done. He had fitted it to a mechanism that would tilt the table up or down, and for now he had her held up, almost as though she were floating in midair, his and her eyes at the same height. She closed her eyes for a moment, and he thought she was going to cry. He felt sparks swirl and fly all under his skin.

When she opened them, however, there were no tears, only a strange look and one he hated every millisecond he saw it.

"Get the fuck away from me," she snarled.

He was momentarily taken aback by how…virulent she had sounded. Where had this woman come from? Where was the shaking, terrified girl he had created? He knew she was in there, he had seen her in her deepest reaches of fear and God she was tempting enough to touch when she was entrenched in terror. How many times—when he called her at the police station, when he rang her doorbell and ran from it, when he had watched her come back to her apartment after he destroyed it—had he watched her eyes widen in fear, watched tears spring the corners of her eyes and her bottom lip tremble as they spilled over her cream colored skin, all color gone from her usually beautifully flushed cheeks? He had felt it down to his toes, the wanting, when he watched her like that. There was something about _her_ fear specifically that made him antsy to work, made his whole body ache with the need more pronouncedly than it had for over a decade.

But this? This rage and strength? It made his stomach roil. He hated it. It infuriated him, in fact. As much as her fear brought his needs to the surface of his mind, this new development brought his rage swirling from his controlled depths in a way he was almost unfamiliar with. Without thinking he stepped forward and backhanded her. Her head snapped to the side, her bottom lip split in the corner. Seeing the bright red, tempting screaming red, against her paleness made his whole body jump to attention. He was concentrating on the tiny drop of her blood that had run down from her mouth to the side of her jaw when suddenly he felt something wet on his face. He touched the wet spot and brought his fingers in front of his face. He saw saliva and blood.

She had _spit_ at him.

He looked at her again, halfway between horrified and enraged again and she just smirked at him in this ugly, hateful, painfully assured way, like she knew something he didn't.

"You don't know what you just did, you little bitch," he said quietly.

She just laughed.

II.

At first Bella had felt fear, of course she had felt fear, and it had overwhelmed her senses, made her whole body go stiff, made her heart rate rise out of control. She couldn't think. Her mind was racing; panic was coursing as adrenaline through her veins and into her consciousness. All she could think was get out get out get out get out.

She finally allowed herself to look straight at him and immediately what had been her flight response turned to fight. He was just a man, just a psychopath that had fixated on her, but he was still just a man. She felt suddenly, profoundly livid.

He did not seem particularly fond of her displays of anger, especially not when she spit at him, but it only made her laugh. It had hurt like a bitch when he hit her, but she took in as much stride as she could. Adrenaline was dampening the pain, she might need stitches for her lip, but she wasn't thinking about stitches, she was thinking about surviving.

"What do you think you are laughing about?" he demanded. The anger was back in his voice. "Do you know what I'm about to do to you?"

"It won't be any worse than what I have already imagined you doing to me. It's been thirteen years since you took me last, and I have had every single day to think about what might happen if you came after me again. I have thought about every form of torture I could possible imagine, researched methods of inflicting pain, had more nightmares about it than I could even begin to count. What you are going to do with be nothing," Bella stated. Her voice was level, flat, without intonation. She tasted more blood in her blood, and despising the metallic taste, spat again on the floor under her. He flinched when her blood and saliva hit the floor but didn't move. But he said nothing more. He turned from her and walked across the room, out through a set of double doors, leaving her alone.

She struggled again, fruitlessly she knew, there was no way she was just going to be able to get out of the bonds. He wasn't the kind of sociopath to just forget to bind a victim correctly. He wasn't an idiot. But of course she had to try. She felt that she was secured too tight by what looked like the kind of restraints they used on hospital beds with a dangerous patient. She didn't know where he had been able to secure all the things he had used to get to her and keep her where she was, but she didn't put too much thought into it. She was going to try screaming when the silhouette of her captor reappeared into the door, pushing something in front of him, a bag on his shoulder.

She watched as he pushed a large table on wheels right up to her side and put down a black canvas bag on it. He unzipped the bag and started taking things out. A scalpel. A blowtorch. A band saw. A flicker of the fear that had disappeared came resumed its seat in the forefront of her mind for one split second when she realized he was planning on using those things on her. She closed her eyes to keep from seeing what else he was going to take out. She didn't want to know. And then it occurred to her that he was doing this, showing her the tools, to scare her. He was trying to regain some kind of control, and the best kind of control was fear. If she was afraid he had her exactly where he wanted her.

So she went on the offensive.

"So where did this proclivity for torture and murder come from? I was a psych double major in college, which I'm sure you already know, what with the stalking me relentlessly for over a decade of your life in all. Maybe I can help you get to root of your problem," she said. She looked down at him, his face not his hands and whatever he had in them. He glanced at her with veritable rage, but said nothing. She could feel his anger radiating from him in waves, and she knew there was a chance she was only making things worse for herself, but on the off chance that what she was doing might actually help her, she was going to keep pushing.

"Okay, well if I am going to help you, you are going to have to open up to me. But we can start with the basics. Did you mother make you like this?" she asked. There was a lilt of amusement in her voice. She knew it was bordering on hysteria.

"This has nothing to do with my mother," he snapped. Bella smirked.

"So it _was_ your mother that fucked you up. I can work with that. Was it neglect?" she asked. He kept moving, kept unpacking his seemingly endlessly full bag. "So it was abuse."

His movements hitched only slightly, but with the adrenaline pumping through her veins, everything was heightened. She saw the way his hands had paused briefly over his work, the way his face, though mostly turned away had seemed to freeze.

"Well I guess the only question left is was it mental, physical or sexual abuse." She paused. He didn't respond, either out loud or through his body language. "Ah, so all three," she inferred.

"You should be worrying less about my mother and more about your immediate future," he ground out; his teeth clenched together in what she could only assume was almost uncontrollable rage. His eyes met hers and she felt for a split second that their roles were completely reversed. She was the cool calm one, impossible as that seemed, and he was the one that was in a frenzy, unable to control himself. Bella knew she couldn't keep this up forever. She knew a lot about psychology, but she hadn't ever studied this man, she didn't know nearly enough about his pathology to guess about the where and whys of his deep seated psychological issues. She had taken psychology mainly because she wanted to understand herself better, wanted to get a hold of the fear that penetrated her and for the most part she had. She never guessed that she would be using all her knowledge to try and talk to her kidnapper.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I should be terrified right now. But I'm not."

His brow furrowed. He looked into her eyes for a very long moment and she could tell he was searching her for fear. That moment was when she felt most fearless, and she was proud that he looked away from her dissatisfied.

"So that's it then, fear. It's why you hung up all the photos in that room and kept us all in there for a week. It's why you took everything so slow. Maybe you're a perfectionist and you like everything just right, but I think it was mostly because you like to bathe in fear. You are a sick motherfucker; I'll give that to you."

He stood in front of the table, rearranging things slowly, putting them in specific order. Bella didn't look. She remembered something Edward had told her, that what he wanted most was to keep her from going on with her life, and that if she wanted to win, all she had to do was live.

"How it must kill you to know that you didn't ruin my life," she said quietly.

"I _destroyed_ you, you insolent bitch! You lived your life in fear because of me, changed your habits, moved to a new city, fell apart on a daily basis because of _me_!" he shouted at her, his face an inch from hers. His cold calculating eyes were now totally beyond recognition. They were full of fury, and of something else, she didn't know what. She knew she had pushed the right button.

"I double majored in college. I work at one of the biggest publishing companies in the world and am on my way to being one of the youngest senior editors in the company's history. I fell in _love_, because of _me_. You can kill me now if you want, torture me, whatever, but I lived. All you have done is watch."

"Oh I've seen you live. You think that because you fucked that stupid detective it means he loves you? You think it means he will find you?" he snapped. He looked practically rabid. The idea of Edward touching her obviously sent him into a rage, and her shoving it in his face only made it worse.

"I think watching us together was your worst fear in action. Some other man touching me, making me feel normal and safe. You were nowhere near my mind in all those hours he and I were together. And to think, you brought us together," she said with a slight smile. The thought of Edward's hands on her transported her for a moment back to her apartment before everything went to hell, his mouth on hers, arms wrapped around her back, every inch of his skin pressed against hers. She had never felt as secure in her entire life as she had in those moments.

She looked at him; his face had gone back to its chilling placidity. He was moving his hands again. He brought them up to his eyes to investigate. He had on brass knuckles.

"Let's see how safe he makes you feel now," he said to her, his voice back down once more to where it had been, oddly, unnervingly monotone. She had pushed his buttons for certain, but not enough of them. He had been able to come back down.

She closed her eyes and thought of Edward.

III.

Seven locations out of eight had turned out to be a bust. Edward had rushed to the door of each crack den, each empty building, abandoned storefront, warehouse, almost every fucking place they had put on their list and they got nothing. The last spot was the old warehouse on the pier and Edward honestly wasn't holding out much hope for it to be the one where he found Bella. He had thought he had found something predictable, but maybe he had been wrong. If he had wasted their time by chasing down what turned out to be a dud lead he might never forgive himself. They didn't have time to waste. Every second he was away from her ate at him, and the more time went by, the more he felt like he was going insane.

When they got into the car after location seven, Emmett paused before starting the car.

"If this next place isn't the one, Edward, it isn't your fault," he said.

"If you're going to give me some cop wisdom, can you do it while you're driving?" was all Edward said in reply.

Emmett started the car and glanced at the address of the final location they were planning on scoping out. He entered the stream of traffic and sighed.

"Listen, I know you need to get to her, I am not going to tell you that you shouldn't try. What I am telling you is that we are three moves behind in this game and if you beat yourself up because you didn't get to see all the cards before you started playing you're just going to wind up hating yourself for something that was never your fault. James had this shit planned out before you ever knew she existed."

Edward said nothing. Emmett was probably right, he usually was, but that didn't mean that Edward didn't feel like shit about it, or that Emmett didn't _feel_ right. It made sense, but it didn't jive with how he was feeling. He wanted to scream when Emmett told him it wouldn't be his fault if he didn't find her until she was already dead. Serve and protect, wasn't that the oath he made when he became a cop? Wasn't that the oath he made the second he met Bella, even without knowing it, that he was going to do anything, lay down his life if necessary, to keep her safe?

She was so strong, he knew that. But he also knew how scared she was. The thought of her scared and alone was enough to drive him to want to run all over the city until he found her, the fact that she might be in pain only made that need root deeper in him.

So he and Emmett drove in silence after Emmett had tried to talk to him. Mostly Edward tried not to think of anything other than the rushing scenery out the window. He tried not to think of the list of instruments James had used to torture his victims a decade ago. He tried not to think of the crime scene photos he had seen of mutilated children. He tried not to think of the rage he knew was bottled inside James like a dam.

With all his conscious effort to not think about terrible things he passed enough time, and finally they were down at the pier. All these abandoned warehouses had started looking exactly the fucking same to Edward.

They got out of the car and approached the front entrance. There was a padlock on it and Edward grumbled under his breath until Emmett backed away for a moment, returning almost instantly with a rather large and heavy looking trash can.

"Oh come on, Emmett, that shit only works in the movies," Edward said, annoyed that he was going to have to find some other way in. Emmett raised his eyebrows at him and then raised the can over his head, bringing it smashing down on the lock. It snapped in two under the pressure.

"Color me impressed," Edward drawled.

"Yeah fuck you," Emmett replied. They both drew their weapons as they had done at every other scene, needlessly as it had turned out. Edward took out his LED flashlight and went in first. It was dark, something he had expected, and he immediately clicked the bright little light in his left hand on. He led the way with Emmett as his backup.

They went through several large open rooms, and then there was a back hallway, which they traversed as quietly as possible. It could not have gotten any more cliché. At the end of the hall there were thick plastic flaps covering the doorway, a kind of light penetrating through the opening. It could have been a window. It could have been a junkie. But Edward felt it, with a sudden certainty that this was the place. He stomach was turning, his nerves felt like they were fraying, and like every cell in his body was certainly very rigidly at attention. Something was about to happen.

He walked through the flaps, pushing them aside and was met with something he could not at first understand. There was a cross like contraption suspended perpendicular to the floor, with a figure hung upon it. At first he thought it was a religious icon, a giant Jesus nailed to a cross, left here by a religious freak or who the fuck ever else might have come to the place.

But the hair was too long. And whoever it was moved too much to a religious carving. Edward stepped a bit closer and smelled blood. He took another reluctant step and the light seemed brighter or his eyes adjusted or everything else grew darker.

"Bella," Edward said quietly. He heard Emmett swear from behind him.

Edward immediately rushed from his place across the room. Bella was passed out on what he could now see was a table, rigged to elevate itself. Her head was hanging down, hair around her in a curtain, chest rising and falling in a slow, but even rhythm. She was alive. Edward thanked God.

"Help me, Emmett," he shouted. Emmett was at his side immediately and supported her body weight as Edward retrieved the knife from his belt and cut the hospital like restraints on her wrists, ankles and torso. The leather was tough, but eventually gave. When he was done she slumped forward into Emmett's arms, and he immediately gave her over to Edward.

Her limp form was brutalized, that much was clear. Her face was bruised; there were some shallow lacerations on her arms and legs. She had burns along her shoulders and hands. The bottoms of her feet were badly burned as well. But she was breathing. Edward was about to have Emmett call for a bus when her eyes fluttered. He watched for a moment and they fluttered open.

He opened his mouth to say something to her but said nothing. He didn't have the words to tell her the relief inside him that she was safe, that she was out of harm's way for the moment. There was pain in her eyes as she looked up at him, licking her dry lips, clearly trying to think of something to say just like he was. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared up at him.

"You found me," she said quietly, almost like a question.

"I will always find you. Always," Edward answered, resolution in his voice, a kind of finality that even if he had been afraid earlier he might not have found her, he now realized he would not have rested until he had. She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment, tears escaping from the corners of her eyes as she breathed deep to steady herself.

"Bella, where is James?" Edward asked. Her eyes widened and her body tensed at the mention of his name, at knowing who he was.

"We heard a loud noise, you two getting in here most likely and he just ran for it," she answered quietly. "I was afraid I was just going to get left here. I guess I got overwhelmed, that's why I passed out."

"I have you now. We are going to get you out of here. Emmett, go radio this in, call for a bus; she needs to get to a hospital," Edward said quietly. Emmett took out his cell phone and frowned.

"No fucking service of course, I swear to God, they insist on cutbacks and only having the radio in the car but they can't even give us phones that fucking work, goddamn recession. I'll be right back," he said, exiting the room. He heard the flaps of plastic slapping together. As soon as Emmett was gone, Bella started crying.

"Bella, you're safe now, you're safe, I am never going to let anyone hurt you again, I swear, I promise, even if I have to quit my fucking job and live off my inheritance and never leave the house with you ever again I will," he said, not sure what else to say to her.

"Oh stop it, Edward! I'm not crying because I'm upset, I'm crying because I'm happy. I am so fucking happy to see you. I was terrified, Edward, terrified I was never going to see you again. Through all of it…through all of it I was just thinking about you, about being with you and now you're here. I _knew_ you would come for me, I knew you would. And then Emmett…I mean Jesus Christ, the two of you, you rescue me from the clutches of a serial killer and you are still just you two, just doing your job…you have an inheritance?" her voice was higher pitched than normal, faster, almost hysterical. She was probably right on the edge of falling into shock. Edward figured the best way to keep her firmly planted on the right side was to talk to her.

"When my biological father died he left me a good sum of money in a trust. I didn't touch it for the first eighteen years of my life and by then Carlisle had convinced me to leave it alone unless I really needed it. I wanted to be a detective like my father so I haven't really delved into the money, but I would," he told her. "My original plan was to leave it for my kids just like my father did for me, but screw it; I'd rather spend it on you."

She smiled at him again and he didn't know how it was possible for her to smile. She had just been rescued from a torturing, stalking, homicidal maniac and she was _smiling_. She was honestly the most beautiful, strong person Edward had ever met. He couldn't contemplate how she could go on the way she was.

"I love you, Edward. I love you so much," she said finally.

"I love you, too, I have loved you from the very second I met you. I mean it when I say I am going to keep you safe," he said seriously.

The plastic behind them rustled and Edward turned behind him to ask Emmett what took so goddamn long and ask when the ambulance would be there.

Emmett's face was not the one he saw.

James's features stared back at, cold pronounced eyes glared at him from the doorway.

"Now Edward, I wouldn't make promises you don't know you can keep," he said.


	10. Breathe Me

**Hello readers, so glad to have you back again! I just wanted to say, first and foremost, that you guys are awesome. I love reading your reviews, they always make me smile :) This chapter gets a little bumpy, so be ready for some rough stuff coming up**. **Otherwise, as always, enjoy the story my darlings!

* * *

**

I.

When it came to fear, James was gender indiscriminate. The flicker of pure terror in Edward's eyes when he turned, expecting his partner who was currently unconscious outside, was priceless. It made him salivate to see Bella in the arms of her rescuer unable to be rescued, and her would-be savior terrified that he had failed again. Bella had been spot on with her brief analysis of him and that it was fear that drove him, fear that inspired him, fear that made his heart beat faster and the need creep out of his veins and into his hands to make them work, create something beautiful out of a terrified child, to spill blood and create something new. She was his greatest piece of art yet.

His only quandary now was to figure out if he wanted to make Edward suffer by having him watch while he tortured Bella, or make Bella suffer while she watched him kill Edward.

Decisions, decisions.

It took the flicker of defiance in Bella's eyes to make the choice for him. If he was truly going to reduce her, to make her into what he wanted her to be he would need to take away the thing that comforted her. Watching Edward die would be the way to make her crumble. She wouldn't have any bright insights or strength left after that.

He would destroy her.

II.

"Help me up, Edward," Bella said quietly, never taking her eyes off James. James, that was his name, the man that had been stalking her, torturing her. She had taken quite a bit in the past few hours, not limited to the brass knuckles in the least. He hadn't even used half the items on his table, and it had been at least two hours since he had begun what she had heard him affectionately refer to as his 'work'.

"Your feet, Bella," Edward replied, though she could see through her peripheral vision that he had not looked back at her either. Edward was smart, he knew better than to take his eyes off a sociopath.

"My feet are fine," she argued. In reality she knew standing on her badly burned feet was going to hurt like a bitch, but the last thing she wanted, less than to die was to seem weak right then. Dying at that moment seemed to be all but inevitable, but while she still lived she wanted nothing more than to keep from James what he most desired. Her fear and her weakness would only feed him. So with his help, Bella was brought to her feet. She tested them gingerly at first and felt a very distinct and acute pain run straight from the soles of her feet up through her legs, which protested their weight being supported on so tenuous braces. But she quelled their shaking, swallowed the pain and looked at James again, who had not moved since he entered the room.

"How do you really think this is going to work, James? Do you think I am going to let you at her again?" Edward asked quietly.

"Is this the part where you say it's over your dead body, because I'll have you know that was just what I had planned," James drawled. His tone was relaxed, almost languid. It made Bella simultaneously nervous and livid.

"Your partner is currently unconscious outside, and I am sure that no one knows where you are, mostly because there is absolutely no way you went through any official channels to get the information you would have needed to find me. I know that you are here, that_ she_ is here and that I am here, and that when all of this is done I will be left standing and you will both be dead," he continued, his voice like ice. There was something clipped, contained and controlled about his tone, and Bella couldn't tell if it was purposely held in check or if he naturally spoke that way when he felt at ease in a situation.

The moments that followed passed in some strange kind of slowness, like they had forever to simply stare at each other, a showdown of some sort. But the longer she looked in his eyes, calculating as ever, she realized he meant every word he said. He intended to kill her and Edward.

Her death she had accepted, but she could not abide by the feeling of utter loss it created in her at the thought of Edward's death.

She took a step, so she was level with Edward instead of behind him, the movement and sudden change of pressure sent a shock of pain through her feet, up past her ankle almost all the way up to her hip. She grimaced but swallowed the pain. She felt Edward looking at her but didn't address him.

"Leave him alone," she said, her tone even and flat. James' face twisted into a strange expression.

"Bella, what are you doing?" Edward asked. She chanced a quick glance at him. There was something like fear and worry in his eyes, along with the puzzlement she could hear in his voice. But his face, his beautiful face was all it took to cement what she was about to do. She had to, and she knew it.

"Edward is a side note and you know it. I am the one you want. I will come if you leave him alone," she said quietly.

"I am not a bargainer," James replied at the same time as Edward shouted a string of expletives that carried the point across that he was not in favor of the plan she had divulged.

"The longer we stall the better than chances that Emmett will come round and the less of an opportunity you will have to get to me, and I assure you that this will be your very last chance. Emmett and Edward will kill you if they have the chance."

"Bella, _what the fuck are you doing_?" Edward demanded but she ignored him, the hurt in his voice. She felt it resonate through her entire body and she knew, she just knew she had to do what she was doing now. She would not live out the last moments of her life, which she expected to come very soon, knowing the only person she had ever dares to love in her life was dead because of her. She just couldn't stand the thought.

"You would come right now? Knowing what you are stepping into? You must know your lover would never allow it," James answered with amusement in his voice, clearly perplexed but strangely delighted that she would come to him willingly.

"You are _damn right_ I wouldn't allow it. If you think I am going to let you go off with this psychopath you are out of your fucking mind," Edward practically shouted. He was so angry, so distressed, she couldn't bear to look at him.

"Psychopath? I think that is a bit harsh, don't you?" he asked in return. Bella could feel Edward glowering at his strange unsmiling face.

"Would sociopathic child murderer suit you better, you crazy fuck?" Edward asked. He was letting his anger and anguish get the better of him. He was going to crack under the pressure if he wasn't careful.

"This is a onetime offer, James, take it or leave it," Bella said, ignoring the words that had passed between the two men. "You need to take me somewhere else now anyway, because once Emmett wakes up if he doesn't come in here and find us he will call in all kinds of back up and you know it. It will be easier to do if you only have to transport me and not Edward, too."

"Absolutely not, Bella; it won't matter if he kills me now or tries it later. You giving up now won't change the fact that he has got it out for me now. I got in the way, remember? I touched you," Edward told her. She finally allowed herself to look back at him again and his face was set in stone, any trace of the emotion she had heard in his voice a few moments earlier had gone completely. He was a cop again, not Edward the man who loved her. It hadn't been her intention to bring that out in him, but forcing him to shove away his feelings and embrace the parts of himself that were the most calculating, the most intelligent, was a positive side effect when she realized that Edward would never just let her leave. It had been a desperate move, and it had failed. However, bringing out the policeman in Edward was what was going to save them.

She hoped.

III.

Edward had felt every last cell in his body scream when Bella had tried to just walk off with the psycho who was trying to torture and kill her. He couldn't understand what she was doing at first until he realized that she thought that if she left with him, if she sacrificed herself James would leave Edward alone. He had to tell her that no matter what happened now, the two of them could not exist in the same world. He would die or James would.

He had noticed the slight flicker of unpleasantness across James' face when he mentioned touching Bella, and it occurred to him that his original plan of provoking him might still be applicable, only in a different context. He could draw him into a conflict now, long enough that Bella could get away and he could take care of the motherfucker for good. She was hurt but if he told her to go, she would go. She was strong, stronger than James had given her credit for, probably stronger than Edward himself gave her credit for. He realized he had been wrong, had always been wrong, to assume he would be the one to save her. Really, she just needed a little help saving herself.

"You don't particularly like the idea of me touching her, do you?" Edward asked James. His eyes narrowed but he said nothing. "No, I didn't think you did. I'll admit, at first I wondered why if it sickened you so much to see me with her you would watch us together. But you couldn't look away, could you?"

"I watched so I could picture better ways to kill you," James replied coolly. Edward smirked.

"You watched us in bed, you watched us _make love_ because you were trying to figure out the best way to take me out? I don't think so. I think it made you jealous," he continued.

"Jealous of what? That little whore is nothing to be jealous over."

Bella didn't flinch, didn't move, and her expression didn't change. She was just watching James' face, probably for the same things Edward was watching for. There had to be a crack somewhere, a foothold to weasel his way in. He could figure out how to make him tick; now he needed to figure out how to make him break.

"Are you sure? Because I am pretty sure the things you wrote on her wall sounded more like a jealous stalker than anything else. Like you are one of those pathetic kids who thinks because a woman smiles at them they have a relationship. Kidnapping her didn't make her yours, but taking her to bed made her mine," Edward stated.

He saw it then, the twitch that ran through all of James' body, like he had gotten an electric shock. He hit the right nerve with his last statement, he just needed to keep attacking it and hope that James would come after him.

"She will _never_ be yours," James hissed, his calm blown, cool gone completely.

"On the contrary, she already is. She belongs to me. You might have her blood on your hands but she is _mine_, unequivocally, until her death. Even if you killed her she would still be mine. You lost, James. She got away from you once when she was eight and she has gotten away from you again now. You've failed. Accept it. She is mine and I don't fucking share."

James moved first, and Edward in one motion pushed Bella out of the way and took a step to meet him, reaching for his sidearm. He got it out of the holster before James met him in the middle of the room, but he was a fast son of a bitch so Edward didn't have time to aim before they were already too close for him to clearly get off a shot. He had waited to take out his firearm in case James was also armed; it wasn't wise to start waving a gun around if you didn't know if the other person had one or not.

James got a right hook in before Edward could appreciate the distance between them or size up the situation. He could take a hit, after years on the force breaking up fights, sparring at his gym, not to mention taking more than his fair share of beatings with the fights he got into in all of middle school and high school. He had learned at an early age how to take a hit, and though it hurt like a bitch he was able to move with the strike instead of letting it take him down.

He ducked out of the way of James' second punch, landing one of his own on James' stomach, which he took as well as Edward did. But he expected that. Edward turned the .38 in his hand around and brought it down as swiftly as he was able across James' face twice, in rapid succession. James stumbled back a moment, long enough for Edward to see the blood that had started to gush from his right cheek. He had probably broken his cheek bone with the butt of his gun. He brandished it like a bludgeon, holding tight to it in case he needed to use it again in the same capacity.

He was vaguely aware of Bella through all of this, who had crawled to opposite wall when it began. He wanted to tell her to get the hell out while she had the chance but he knew she must have been frightened, not to mention she most likely was caught in the moment and couldn't just look away and go. He wanted to yell to her, but before he had enough time to think about it, James was back at him.

He went for the gun first, wrapping his hand around Edward's, twisting his wrist back. Edward held on as best he could, using his other hand to bring a blow to James' already injured face, but his focus was singular. He took the punch with a grunt and a visible shake, but would not let go of his hand. The gun dropped from his grip, and Edward heard it clatter to the floor. He managed to kick it away from them, knowing it was better off away from them both than possibly in James' hands. The gun had just slid away from them when James tackled him to the floor.

Hitting the concrete floor almost knocked the wind out Edward, but he managed just barely to keep his breath and his consciousness and protect his face in time to keep the impending blows from landing. It didn't make it any less painful when James' fists landed on his arms or torso, but he needed to stay in the game, and any hit hard enough to knock his head back against the floor might put him down for the count. If he was unconscious he wouldn't be able to help Bella.

He heard a light clicking sound, and he remembered the story Emmett had told him about the drug raid, about something being the loudest sound in the whole room even though there were so many other sounds around him. His heart was pounding in his ears, his breathing was loud, James was breathing loudly, panting in his attack and there was a general scuffling sound with their thrashing around. But that little sound, a click and nothing more echoed through his ears like the room had been silent.

And then there were four consecutive explosions, his unprepared ears rang with the sound, not sure what it was at first. But it became clear when James sat up for a moment on his knees and froze before a drip of blood escaped his mouth. He fell off of Edward unceremoniously and he realized that there was blood on his clothes and on the floor next to them where James had landed.

It was only then that he saw Bella holding his sidearm, blinking rapidly, still holding it out, pointed to where Edward was on the ground and where James had been a moment before. She was an absolute mess. He could see tears building in her chocolate eyes and he got up immediately, taking the gun out of her hand gingerly and holstering it. He ignored the wet sputtering of James on the ground and put his arms around Bella. She fell immediately against him, her breathing even, and then strangely hiccuped. He realized she was sobbing after he felt his shirt getting damp and heard her start to cry out. He held her tighter.

Emmett stumbled in a moment later. Edward saw him come through the plastic flaps and notice James' body on the floor and Bella in his arms falling apart. He said nothing. He didn't need to.

Emmett would tell him later that James had ambushed him while he was reaching for the radio in the car. As soon as he had come to he immediately called for reinforcements and as he was walking through the front door he heard the gun go off.

"I didn't know what the fuck was going on. For all I knew one of you were hurt, or dead. So I went in even though it was fucking stupid, hero cop here, remember? I never thought it would have been her to do it, but I guess that's all the kind of closure that girl could get, you know? Sounds like a fucked up game of _Clue_, 'Bella with the .38 in the creepy fucking warehouse.'"

Edward had just listened to him talk while they were in the hospital. He was getting patched up while Bella was being seen to separately. He didn't want to be separated from her, not after that kind of physical and mental trauma, but she had swallowed the rest of her tears and told him that she would be fine. When he tried to argue she just looked at him, in that commanding way she had that told him to back down a little.

All his testosterone driven need to protect her was gone when she looked at him like that. He remembered that it had been her, after all, that had shot James in the end of it. The doctors came in and briefed him on Bella's condition after his slight lacerations and what they thought was a concussion was treated as best they could. Emmett left his side to take a call from the captain who was handling the bureaucratic end of things and the doctor came over shortly after.

"She has some major contusions on her torso, a few cracked ribs, and several shallow lacerations on all of her extremities and torso. There are first and second degree burns on her forearms and the backs of her hands, and second degree burns on the bottoms of both her feet. But as bad as all that sounds, she will recover from all that given enough time. Given the instruments you found at the warehouse, he could have done far more damage than he did. I'll be sure to keep you updated with her condition and let you know what his is once he is out of surgery," the doctor said.

For a moment, Edward didn't quite understand what he had heard. It was hard enough to listen to extent of Bella's injuries without wanting to hit someone, but the last bit didn't make sense.

"Doc, maybe you have the wrong patient, but James Alistair was shot four times at almost point blank range, I don't think he would have made it," Edward said, rubbing absently at the butterfly bandage on his forehead. The doctor looked down at his clipboard—so cliché, Edward thought—and then back at him.

"Detective, Bella Swan might have shot him, but she wasn't necessarily a good shot. She hit his right shoulder once and his lower torso three times. Given enough time he would have bled out, but she somehow managed not to hit any major arteries and the organ and arterial damage that did occur is fixable in surgery, where he is currently. It's possible he won't make it off the table, but I will let you know about his status when I know more."

Edward thanked him absently, his head spinning. The son of bitch was still alive. For all he knew, and with any luck, he would die on the fucking operating table and he would never have to deal with him ever again. He thought bitterly that he should have taken Bella to the shooting range, then maybe they wouldn't be having this issue.

Someone knocked on the door to his room and he called for them to come in as he got up off the hospital bed and started pacing. Emmett quickly came in and closed the door behind him. He looked more worried than Edward would have liked at that particular moment.

"I don't like your face," he said. Emmett glanced at him quizzically.

"I'm going to skip over what could be taken as an insult and get right to the point here. The forensics lab got back to the captain and they told him that it was your DNA in the love glove, so he's rip shit, although less so than he would have been if we hadn't already gotten James. Count yourself a lucky fucker that he's taken out now because if it hadn't happened yet you'd be off duty and shit would have gone down very differently," he said, his mouth turned down into a scowl.

"Fuck," I said, "am I suspended?"

"I don't know, he said he's coming down here to talk to you as soon as he can get away from the higher ups and the media dogs. There is going to be fallout, but it's over for now, Edward. Bella is safe; James is out of the game for good."

"James is in fucking surgery, Emmett. He survived the shooting," Edward told him, explaining what the doctor had told him about James' condition.

"Motherfucker, you have got to be kidding me. This is some right shit. If this goes to trial we might have some issues, you being involved with the victim and all," Emmett mused. Edward glared at him.

"I fucking know that, Emmett," he growled.

"Hey now, comrade, calm down, I'm not trying to make you feel like shit, I still think you made the right choices with Bella, I'm just saying let's all cross our fucking fingers that someone slips with a surgical instrument up there and nicks something vital so we don't even have to go through with that whole shit show. It would be a clusterfuck anyway; no one will miss him if he is dead."

Edward snorted but covered his eyes with his hands, trying to block it all out. Everything was fucked. James was alive upstairs getting surgery, DNA had finally come through and he was about to get the thrashing of the year for sleeping with someone on one of his cases.

His only saving grace was Bella. She was like a spotlight in the middle of a black night. He didn't understand how she made everything all right. When he thought of how screwed up everything was it made him feel panicked with worry about how it might possibly end up okay in the end. But then he thought of Bella, the smell that came off her skin, the color of her eyes, the sound of her voice, her smile, the shape of her mouth, the taste of her, everything seemed like it was going to pan out. She was okay. She was hurt, and she would need some time to heal, but she was okay. That was everything, it was more than enough, to make all the other bad things, and there were a lot of them, completely vanish.

"Go see her," Emmett said quietly. Edward looked over at him and Emmett was staring at him with raised eyebrows.

"How did you…?" he asked. Emmett rolled his eyes.

"You get that stupid happy dreamy look when you think about her, I can always fucking tell. I'll hold off the storm coming your way, just go to her. She needs you and you need her, more than doctors and medicine."

Emmett always had the amazing skill of joking one moment and then turning suddenly serious and ending on a note that was more insightful than Edward would have predicted. But he was right. Edward knew she was going to need healing, but she also needed him, just like he needed her. Not seeing her after everything was making him insane. It had been hard enough being away from her when he didn't know where she was. She was only a floor away from him now and he couldn't get to her because a doctor said she needed to be treated.

Well fuck that, Edward told himself, that is what a badge is for.

He patted Emmett on the shoulder as he walked out the door and up the stairs. He went to the triage desk on the floor above the one he had been put on and flashed his badge, asking for the room number where he could find Bella Swan. The woman at the desk quickly scoured a clipboard and informed him the room he wanted was 314. He thanked her and went in the direction she pointed him in. When he got to her door he flashed his shield at the unis on duty outside her room and they let him pass without any issue.

Bella got a room to herself, and for good reason. She was bandaged quite a bit, similar butterfly bandages on her pretty face, the bruises more pronounced now, under the fluorescence than they had been in the darkness of the warehouse. Edward felt his hands tighten into fists until she opened her eyes.

For a very long moment he was frozen. She just looked at him, eyes staring at right, through him, right into the very depths of him. There was something about those beautiful eyes of hers that communicated everything he needed to hear without her saying a word. She loved him. She missed him. She needed him.

She was his, and always would be.

He was the one that almost burst into tears this time, so relieved to just see her face and know that she was really was okay, that she was here, not still somewhere where he couldn't get to her.

"Edward," she said quietly. He crossed the room to her and went to hold her, but pulled back at the last moment. She had cracked ribs and extensive internal bruising; he didn't want to hurt her. He settled for taking her face in his hands very lightly and kissing her mouth, split lip be damned. She kissed him back lightly, matching his gentleness. He felt her smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, taking a seat in the chair by her bed. She lifted her hand, an IV in the back of it, and tucked a strand of errant mahogany hair behind her ear.

"Like a psycho tortured me," she said plainly. Just hearing the word torture escape her lips in reference to herself made him want to throw up or hit something, but he restrained both urges and frowned at her. They sat in silence for a few long moments, not talking, not needing to talk.

"I didn't know what else to do, Edward," she murmured finally. "He was hurting you, he had already hurt me. He was going to kill us, or try and your gun was right there and I just…it felt like some kind of dream sequence or something, I hardly remember doing it. And the nurse told me…she said she wasn't supposed to but she told me he is in surgery and I just…he's still alive, Edward. He is still breathing and maybe he won't make it through the surgery but I…"

She stopped short but Edward didn't need her to finish her sentence. He was still alive and it scared her, even if he was incapacitated. Before he could say anything, there was a knock on the door and a nurse came in the room. Before she could tell him to leave he showed her his badge and she nodded. She checked a few things on Bella's monitors and adjusted one of the tubes that went down to her IV before leaving them alone again.

"Bella, there is something else we need to talk about," Edward started. She looked at him intently and he sighed, before explaining to her the shit situation they were in regarding his involvement with her and how public it now was, and how further public it was going to get if things went to trial. He told her there was a chance the defense would use it against him if he testified, to discredit him, and it might get James off the hook. He could see her eyes darkening by the second as he talked. He didn't like it either, and he could feel his stomach tightening in distaste as he explained it.

"So because you and I are…involved, that could get in the way of the case, if James makes it through?" she inquired after he was done talking. He nodded slowly. She bit her lip and immediately flinched when her teeth connected with the broken flesh. Edward winced with her.

"Well, let's cross that bridge when we get to it, okay? I don't want to worry about it if the motherfucker just ends up dying during surgery anyway."

Edward agreed with her logic, but immediately felt his mouth fall open.

"Did you just say motherfucker, Bella?"

"I think it's justified in this case," she spat. Edward grinned despite himself.

"I couldn't agree more."

Edward talked to her for a bit longer and then she confessed she was tired. He told her to go to sleep, that he would be there when she woke up. She closed her eyes and within minutes he could hear the difference in her breathing. Watching her sleep was the most comforting thing he would ever do. Knowing she was at peace, safe in front of him was possibly the most calming thing he could think of.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and without waiting the doctor that had talked to Edward downstairs entered the room. He didn't look the least bit surprised to see him sitting in the chair beside her bed.

"Detective, when they told me you had left your room I had no doubt this was where I would find you. I can kill two birds with one stone as it were, I need to check on her and talk to you, all the more convenient if I can do both at once," he said quietly, noting Bella was asleep. He went over to her monitors and checked them the same way the nurse before him had done and picked up her chart to make some sort of note. When he set it back down at the end of her bed he beckoned him to the other side of the room.

"I wanted to tell you that I just got word from the surgical team. James pulled through the surgery and he is in critical condition in the ICU. The next twenty four hours are going to be decisive, but they said given his physical condition and the amount of reparation they were able to do so fast, chances are he is going to survive."

Edward digested his words slowly, but said nothing. He nodded to the doctor, who left without ceremony, telling him to have him paged if either he or Bella needed anything. When the door was closed again Edward went back to the chair by her bedside and put his hand lightly over hers.

"Oh Bella," he whispered, stroking her upturned palm with his thumb. To his surprise her hand curled around his.

"I'm not asleep anymore," she said quietly before opening her eyes. They were empty and frankly it scared him to look at her and not see Bella looking back.

"He is alive," she stated, clearly having heard the conversation between he and the doctor.

"Yes," Edward answered tentatively.

"And they think he is going to pull through?"

"Yes."

"Do you love me?" she asked. He balked.

"How can you ask me that? Of course I love you; I would do anything for you," Edward replied immediately.

"Anything?" she questioned, her voice quieter than before.

"Anything."

She closed her eyes for the briefest moment as if she was trying to remember something. When she opened them again the same emptiness was there, but there was also a kind of terrifying determination.

"Kill him."

* * *

**Like it? Love it? Don't know _what_ to think? Tell me all about it!**


	11. True Colors

**I am here with the eleventh chapter of this our little tale of love and serial killers. Hope you like the way I did section I. Enjoy, my lovelies!**

I.

**Vice Cop Suspected of Kidnapping and Murder**

By: Angela Webber

_Yesterday a policeman by the name of James Alistair was gunned down in a warehouse on the pier while interfering in the rescue of a kidnap victim, the identity of which has yet to be revealed. However a source has revealed that Alistair, who is in critical condition in the ICU, is suspected to be the kidnapper and murderer that struck Seattle thirteen years ago, kidnapping and killing seven children. His last victim, eight year old Isabella Swan escaped and effectively ended his murder spree in the mid nineties._

_Many remember those murders to be the most gruesome in the country's history and…_

Continued on page A3

II.

Morphine was a wonderful drug. Bella felt herself floating through all the pain. She knew it was there, she could _almost_ feel it, but it was just far enough away that the burns, the bruises the incisions, the broken bones she had suffered never quite touched her. The doctors told her she was going to be okay. There would be some minor scarring, but altogether she was lucky to be alive and she wouldn't suffer any permanent damage.

How wrong they were. She was already permanently damaged. She had been kidnapped and tortured not once, but twice. Both times she had managed to escape death, just barely she reminded herself. This time she had ended it by shooting him, James Alistair, and it still wasn't over. She was starting to fear that it never would be.

And Edward, beautiful Edward, he was trying so hard. He was staying with her as much as he could, but business took him away from her now and again. Emmett had to come in and take her statement to get it on record. She skipped over the most horrifying details of the torture, hoping it would suffice to say he tortured her and leave it at that. Emmett didn't push and she was glad that he was the one interviewing her. She would never have been able to tell a stranger and Edward would have gotten furious hearing her talk about it, watching her eyes tear up.

"Could Edward and I…being together, could that really screw the case up?" she asked quietly when Emmett was done taking her statement. He put his pen in the inside pocket of his jacket and sighed.

"Do you want me to tell you the truth or make you feel better?" he asked just as quietly back.

"The truth, I have morphine to make me feel better."

Emmett sighed and scratched his scalp absently.

"Edward and I went through some rather…unofficial channels to find out where you were, and that is not the only things we have done off the books or that goes against the rules. That stuff alone could be enough to get the case thrown out if anyone finds out about it, but I know they won't because the only people who know about it are Edward and I and other people who would rather see this stupid fucker put to death than let him go on a technicality. But Edward…he's one of the lead detectives on your case and he got personally involved. If you ask me, you two are the best things that could have ever happened to each other, but the courts won't exactly see it that way.

"The defense attorney could rip him apart on the stand. If they discredit him, they discredit all the work he did, every lead he chased down, every breakthrough he made. Everything he put together won't matter, even though it was fuck all brilliant. You won't be prosecuted for the shooting, and Edward certainly won't get in any real trouble other than a tongue lashing and a slap on the wrist, but the case will fall to shit. He could get back on the streets."

Bella felt her eyes flood with tears. The idea of him alive was enough to make her heart beat too fast; the idea of him _free_ made her want to vomit.

"Hey, hey Bella, calm down, honey. If you think Edward or I is going to let that monster live past this hospital you are out of your mind," Emmett said, putting his hand on her arm. She closed her eyes and tried to just breathe.

"I asked him to do it and he didn't say anything, Emmett. I would do it myself if I could get out of this goddamn bed, I swear I would," she said angrily. Morphine did nothing to keep her emotions regulated. One minute she was up, the next she was down. There was nothing to help her keep them in check. Whatever she felt, she wore on her face.

"I know you would, Bella, I know. But do you really think Edward or is going to let him wake back up? If you do, you don't know us well enough," he replied, his voice quiet.

"I don't want you to get caught; I don't want you to get in trouble―" she started but Emmett shushed her.

"We're cops, Bella. He and I had this plan from the very beginning. It has been unspoken since the second we knew who he was. Besides, one second looking into those scared eyes and I know _I_ couldn't stand knowing I could put that fear to rest and didn't, let alone Edward, who loves you more than anything else in his whole world. If the positions were reversed and Rose was here instead of you, I know I would want the son of a bitch dead and I wouldn't get fucking caught doing it either."

Emmett's eyes darkened marginally when he spoke his last words and for the first time Bella saw him for exactly what he was. She had always known he was dedicated, smarter than he looked, but it was then that she saw he was not only fiercely loyal but calculating far beyond what anyone ever gave him credit. Emmett knew the ins and outs of the system, he knew the cracks and holes and how to exploit them. And though it was a rare occasion upon which he would choose to pervert the system he worked for and the code he honored, he was more than happy to do so when the situation called for it.

And as he would say, this situation was all kinds of fucked up and _definitely_ called for it.

"Thank you," Bella whispered in return, closing her eyes to try and stop the tears.

"You do not ever need to thank me for protecting you and doing my job," he rejoined softly.

"I would say this goes a bit above the call of duty, Emmett."

"I wouldn't. You are an innocent woman, a civilian, the woman my partner and best friend is in love with, and _my_ friend. Protecting you, making you safe again is exactly how I would define my duty."

Bella reached her hand and touched his face briefly. Emmett smiled.

"You're a good man, Emmett."

"Thank you, ma'am; now if you'll excuse me I am going to make this statement official and send in your man who has been standing outside the door anxiously for the past twenty minutes waiting for me to finish up in here. I swear the kid has some kind of Bella ADHD, if he isn't concentrating on you, he can't concentrate on anything," he said with a grin. He bid her goodbye and once outside, spent a moment talking quietly to Edward before leaving. Edward came in and closed the door behind him, taking his place back at her bedside.

Bella smiled at him and he smiled down at her, tucking some of her hair behind her ear for her.

"You look tired, Edward," Bella announced. There were shadows under his jade eyes, a fatigue in his movements she hadn't noticed before. She had regained some of her lucidity in the past hour. The adrenaline crash and sudden infusion of morphine had put her in a fog, but she was starting to come out of it, and with that she was seeing how exhausted he looked. He was practically sagging with weariness.

"I'm fine," he answered, by rote it seemed.

"You don't have to do that for me, Edward. You are tired; when did you last sleep?" she asked. He paused and looked away. It was a bad sign if he had to think about it.

"Night before last, after I saw you at the motel," he answered slowly, with obvious reluctance. "It's been a busy few days," he continued after she eyed him with disapproval.

"I will call one of the nurses and have them set up a cot in here for you so you can get some sleep," she said quietly. He opened his mouth to argue and she narrowed her eyes. He sighed in defeat and Bella felt victorious.

It took no time at all to get someone to set up a cot for Edward to sleep in. Within ten minutes she was telling him to rest as he lay down reluctantly. The lights were off and the blinds were closed, it was almost as dark as it would have been at night. Within minutes Bella heard his breathing slow to a sleeping rhythm.

She looked over at him, lying on his side facing away from her, his arm curled under his head. He seemed almost like a child then, so vulnerable. She wanted nothing more than to fold herself into him, to burrow into the hollow between his arms and stay there until they were sharing warmth and their breathing had matched pace. Even though it hadn't worked, she never doubted for an instant why she had offered to go willingly with James. She would die for him without a second thought. And she knew that he would die for her.

And she knew, because he had said it and because Emmett had said it, that he would kill for her.

In fact, he planned on it.

III.

Edward slept soundly. He didn't know he was so tired until Bella pointed it out, fingering the skin under his eyes, commenting on how dark the shadows were, how exhausted all his movements were. He felt as though a weight had suddenly been laid across his shoulders and everything was heavy. He was going to fight her on sleeping, because he didn't want to miss a second of being near her, but she had that look in her eyes again, the one that told him not to argue and he had no choice. He let her call an orderly, let them set up a cot, let her usher him into bed. Sleep took him instantly and he slept dreamlessly for what seemed like eternity and not nearly enough time.

When he woke up he rubbed his eyes, trying to rid them of sleep and sat up. He stretched quietly, glancing out the window to see it was now night. He looked behind him at Bella, who as he thought she might be, was asleep. He took a long moment to stare at her resting form and then exited the room as quietly as he could. He went outside to taste some fresh air. As soon as it hit his lungs he felt invigorated and took out his phone.

He called Emmett, who informed him that their captain was planning on stopping by the hospital the next morning to speak to Bella, check on James—who was still comatose as far as Edward or Emmett knew—and to speak rather pointedly with Edward about his misconduct. Edward was both dreading and anticipating it. He just wanted to get it over with.

Emmett and his conversation was short. Emmett was home with Rosalie, and Edward understood with Emmett needing to tell him that he wanted to just spend time with her. He hung up as soon as they were up to date with each other.

Edward had waited eagerly and impatiently outside Bella's room while Emmett had interviewed her and taken her statement. He had insisted on being present, but Emmett told him to stay outside.

"She is going to be saying things you don't need to hear, Edward," Emmett had said, and he knew he was right, like he usually was. So he had waited and twenty minutes later Emmett emerged. They looked at each other for a moment and all Emmett said was 'I'm in."

Edward didn't have to ask what he meant.

Bella had asked him rather pointedly to kill James. He had been surprised that she had asked, but it made him confront the reality he had felt to be true earlier. He could not live in a world with James in it. He could not forgive him for what he had done, and could not trust a prison to keep him behind bars. He knew that there was a chance that if he went to prison —a very high chance—another prisoner would kill him. Jail was not a very welcoming place for a cop or a kid killer. But there was also a chance that he would never make it to that. That he would get put on bail and while on bail he would skip out and never be found again. Or maybe he wouldn't skip out on bail and he would be acquitted.

Edward had faith in the justice system in almost all things, but the idea of the man who had stolen and tortured the love of his life going free made his skin crawl. Not to mention the chance that he himself would be the reason the case was discredited and thrown out made him want to vomit. He couldn't bear the thought of him getting away with it all because of him.

No matter how Bella had asked him he would have done it, because for her would have done anything. He hadn't been lying about that. But what cemented it was the sound of her voice when she asked, the emptiness in her eyes. For those brief moments she had ceased to be Bella. She was could have been if she were a lesser person, the scared, hollowed out version of herself. It was what she would become if he lived, if he was allowed to exist in this world with her.

She might get some closure from his being tried and found guilty, but she would never find peace until he was dead. It was doubtful he would ever be convicted of the previous seven kidnappings and murders even though the papers had already caught wind of their suspicions (from Emmett's anonymous tip, he was sure). They didn't have enough solid evidence to connect him to those crimes. There would be no death penalty in his future. Kidnapping, torture and attempted murder were all possible convictions, but even then he would only serve life in prison.

He could not abide it. He did not want to wake up next to Bella every morning and see the light had left her eyes. She would be a shadow of who she had worked so hard to become and he just couldn't take that. He might as well have killed her.

He tried to tell himself that the reasons he wanted James dead were purely altruistic, but in reality there was a bubble of rage under the surface that wanted James dead just because he wanted nothing more than to end the life of the motherfucker who thought he had some kind of claim over Bella. He caused her so much pain, and it was going to give him so much pleasure to know for certain that he never would again. It wasn't necessarily the act of killing, but the knowing it was over. He wanted to be the one to do so he could know with absolutely certainty that it was done. Knowing Emmett would be there to assist him made things easier.

Edward had never taken a life on the job. He had discharged his weapon twice, but both times he only injured the perp, he hadn't killed them. Both shootings were in extreme circumstances and were obviously cleared when the cases were looked into. He had always thought if he could go his entire career without killing anyone he would be a happy man, though he understood that sometimes it was unavoidable, and occasionally even necessary to take a life.

In this case, where the choice was kill James to save Bella, he knew it was more than justified. All that he had to do now was figure out exactly how he planned on taking him out.

Doing it in the hospital might be too conspicuous, it wasn't as though he would have many good exit points if he were to try and kill him in his room, not to mention he was under constant surveillance, so his presence would never go unnoticed. He tried to mentally tick over the ways he could go about it in the hospital, and came up with far too few options that suited him and didn't include serious prison time. But from what he had heard, James would make a full recovery, so he would not always be in the hospital. He could be in custody, out on bail, any number of scenarios.

Edward took another steadying breath in the ambulance bay where he had been standing, first to make his phone call then to think. Murder wasn't something he liked to contemplate, but it did strike him as ironic that he was doing so at a hospital. The red and blue lights of an ambulance signaled its approach and Edward watched as a stretcher was pulled from the back of it, nurses and doctors rushing to the sides, emergency medical technicians shouting things to them. Edward understood much of what they were saying; he was the son of a doctor, after all. He hadn't really needed the doctor's positive prognosis after he was told the extent of Bella's injuries, he knew without being told that time would heal her.

Time and peace.

He went back inside, leaving the fresh air behind in favor of his Bella. He found her pushing hospital food around on a tray, poking at Jell-O with her spoon. She looked up at him, chagrined.

"I'm pretty sure this was made in the seventies," she said quietly. Edward chuckled to himself. You had to give it to the girl; even in a hospital bed she was adorable. He went to the seat by her bed, the one he had occupied almost constantly since coming to her side again. She reached her hand out to him, IV in the back of it, tethering her to the saline and the morphine and the bed she was supposed to be healing in.

"How did this happen?" Edward asked, reaching out to touch the indigo colored bruise he could see peeking out from the top of her hospital gown. He let his fingers skim lightly over her skin, careful not to hurt her.

"I don't think you want to know," she said quietly in return. She was right on one hand. He really didn't want to know what he had done to her to hurt her that way. He didn't want to, but he needed to. Everything in his world was coming crashing down on him at this very moment; the only thing he really had left was Bella. If he couldn't do what she needed, then he literally had nothing. She needed him to take out the son of a bitch that tried to kill her, so he needed to have all the information.

"Tell me," he supplicated gently. She bit her lip. He looked back at the stain on her skin.

"Brass knuckles," she whispered. Edward flinched, but did not look away. He brushed his fingers over the light bandages on her arm.

"And this?" he inquired.

"An iron."

"And this?" he asked, his fingertips touching the bandage covered stitches on her arm where she had her deepest laceration.

"A filet knife."

"And this?" he whispered in question, gesturing to her feet.

"A blowtorch."

Edward shook slightly, but internalized the rage and put it away for later, knowing there would be time, plenty of time, to get rid of it.

He was going to destroy that motherfucker, and he was going to do it soon.


	12. Before It Breaks

**Dearest, most patient, most beloved readers I am here to offer you two things. The first is my humblest, most sincere apologies. This has taken far too long. There has been so much time in between these last two chapters and for that I am so sorry. It shouldn't have taken me so long, but alas, life sometimes gets in the way.**

**The second is this new chapter! My dears you have reached the final chapter in our little saga, the one that ties it all together, that brings it home, that ends the tale. I hope it has been a (mostly) pleasant journey for you, as it has been for me.**

**Enjoy

* * *

**

I.

Breathing hurt.

James went to touch what was a very tender part of his chest but upon moving his arm he found it extended no more than a few centimeters past its resting place. For a moment he was able to think how strange his limited motion was, which was followed by the very brief memory of a fight he had with some strange copper headed man and then he disappeared into a haze, a blank space.

The pain disappeared.

There was only fog.

II.

Breathing hurt.

Broken ribs would do that, the doctor assured her. Edward told her the same thing. He had broken his fair share through boyhood antics, drunken college shenanigans and sparring matches at the gym during what he claimed was a more or less responsible adulthood.

Bella looked up at the ceiling tiles, concentrating on breathing while moving her chest as little as she could. She had decided she didn't want to take all the pain medication the nurses and doctors kept telling her she could have. Her feet, her arms, her hands, her ribs—everything hurt but she didn't want morphine clouding her mind. She needed to be sure she felt what she felt and that what she said she meant, and that what she was deciding to do now was as clear as it could possibly be. She could have slipped into the fog of the pain, or into the calming, drowning sea of the drugs, but everything was so fresh now, everything was so _real_ now, it felt like really living after almost a decade and a half of just existing.

Pain, it seemed, had awakened her to life in a way that so many other things had been unable to. She glanced to the cot in her bedroom and to the man who had decided to quickly nap there before greeting his boss, the district attorney, an entire city's legal team, and his partner for a briefing about the case they were mounting against the man that had tried to kill her, twice, and what she was sure was going to be a very severe tongue lashing with possible unsavory ramifications over his involvement with her. Edward had fallen asleep as soon as he had touched his head down to the hospital pillow. He had slept so little the past few days, first looking for her, and then because he said he hadn't wanted to take his eyes off of her.

"In case you disappear on me again," he had told her before going to shut his eyes for a short while. She had smiled and told him to rest, that Emmett would come get him when it was time to go to their meeting and she would be here when he got back. She loved him. She loved him more than she knew it was possible to love another person.

But he was in trouble. He wouldn't tell her, he would never say it, but his wearied, angry eyes told her more than he would ever need to say. He was full of a rage that she could never cool, but he was also afraid, afraid of what he was going to do. Edward wasn't a killer; he would kill for her, make things right and take someone out of the world that had hurt her, restore balance as it were. But he wasn't the kind of man who took death on his hands lightly and he was struggling. He would do this thing she had asked him to do, in fact he would have done it whether she had asked it or not, but she was afraid of what he would think of himself after. Killing a man like James could hardly be considered a sin, but something told Bella that Edward was not the kind of man that would do anything without thoroughly punishing himself for it after if he had even the slightest misgivings about it after it was done. It was in the way he had looked at her when she had asked him to do it, like she had simultaneously given him permission to do something he greatly desired and condemned him to do something he loathed simultaneously. Not to mention she knew that he and Emmett had spoken and agreed to take care of him together. Emmett was too good a man to be burdened.

She couldn't let them do it.

She could see where it would lead. Edward would have done the right thing, and he would _know_ that he had done the right thing, but it would eat at him. He would tell himself that he deserved die, and he did deserve to die, but she could not demand that he take that on his conscience. When she had spoken to Emmett and told him that if she had been able to get up out of her bed she would have killed him herself, she had not been exaggerating. In fact, what she had been doing was leaving things out.

She could get out of bed if she wanted to, she had practiced getting into a wheel chair with the nurses to get to and from the bathroom, and she could do it herself if she tried hard enough. Not being on the morphine helped her coordination bit, though it didn't take away her natural clumsiness. It had taken about a half an hour of practicing but she had gotten it down, at least the most basic moves required of her. She could set weight on her feet if she really needed to. She would try not to for as long as she possibly could, but she knew it was possible that she would need to bear the pain of her burned feet to put an end to all of it. And that was exactly what she planned to do.

It wasn't only because Edward had done so much already, or because she didn't want to saddle him and Emmett with that kind of burden, or even because she was terrified out of her mind that they might have gotten caught doing it, though all those things were true. She had only to remember the feeling of peace she had gotten when she thought he was dead, and the accompanying sensation of victory over being the one who finally won after all these years to tell her that really, rightfully, if it was going to be anyone to take him out of this world, it should be her.

A soft knock touched on the door before it was opened a crack. Emmett peeked only his head in, which Bella found amusing considering the mass of the body on the other side. She told him to come in. He moved through the small opening in the doorway with surprising grace and with a quick smile to Bella sat down in the chair beside her bed.

"How's he doing?" he asked quietly, not trying to wake him yet.

"Tired; he hasn't been sleeping much the past few days so I have to practically force him just to nap here and there," she answered, glancing at him affectionately. Emmett nodded.

"Now Bella, I have to tell you something that you might not so much like to hear right now," he told her after a pause. She waited for him to continue.

"I spoke to the doctors, and they said that James has been regaining consciousness in bits and pieces, a minute here, two minutes there, but it seems like he is pulling out of his post-surgical coma pretty steadily. I just wanted to tell you before you started overhearing it from nurses and doctors who don't know what patient confidentiality means."

If he had told her yesterday that he was coming out of his coma, that it looked like he was going to survive, she would have been furious, terrified, too shocked to really move. They were in the same hospital for God's sake, he was closer to her than she liked, unconscious or not. But she already knew what she was going to do. Even conscious he was still weak—she had shot him four times after all—not to mention he was in restraints. He was practically a sitting duck. It seemed fitting for a man who liked to tie down and torture children to die helpless. It wouldn't be hard to end him, conscious or unconscious.

"Thank you for telling me, Emmett," she answered quietly. He only nodded.

"I think it might be time to wake our boy up. We need to get going to this official meeting slash ass kicking before we're late and give them another reason to be pissed off."

Before Bella could quietly, kindly say his name enough times for him to hear her and wake up calmly, Emmett cleared his throat and began to sing, loudly and off key.

"I want to be an airborne ranger, live the life of guts and danger, airborne ranger, guts and danger!"

"Oh shut it, Emmett!" Edward said, still lying down. It was clear he had woken up. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He blinked a few times and looked over at Bella with a smile. His clothes were a rumpled mess, he had the worst bed head Bella had ever seen, and she had gotten some pretty bad bed head herself. Even still, the only thing she could think of was how much she wished she wasn't attached to a bunch of wires and tubes, or she might have jumped him right then.

"That might literally be the most unpleasant way to wake up on the planet," he grumbled, standing up and straightening himself out. He smoothed his hands over his shirt and pants and ran his fingers through his hair to try and calm it down. He succeeded minimally, but looked more presentable than he had when he first got up. He stretched, lacing his fingers up over his head, and then slumped back down with a sigh.

"All right, let's get this done," he said in a quiet, defeated voice.

"Ten four, good buddy; I'll be there to back you up if you need it. The brass can kiss my grits if they think they are going to make you bend over on this one," Emmett replied.

"What pleasant imagery," Edward retorted. "Are you okay, Bella? Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine. Go to your meeting and then come back to me, please."

"Always. I shouldn't be long."

He came over to the side of her bed and kissed her forehead and smiled at her. When he caught her eyes he paused.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, suspicion laced into his voice.

"Yes, I'm just a little tired. I think I'm going to take a nap before you come back."

He stood and looked at her for a moment. She wanted to tell him the truth, but he would never have let her do it. He would have stopped her, and when he did, everything could be ruined. She couldn't take the risk of him trying to be noble or getting them all in more trouble than they were already in. So she lied. It didn't feel good, but she knew that she had to, to protect him, to save him, really to save them both.

He decided she was telling the truth and left her in the room with a quick flash of a smile over his shoulder as he shut the door. Bella counted to one hundred twice before pulling the covers off her lap. The wheelchair was on the other side of the chair that was next to her bed, usually moved closer to her by a nurse or Edward, but she figured she could just maneuver from the chair, to the wheel chair and out. She leaned over the side of the bed and pulled the chair as close as she could, so she could try and just shift herself down from the bed directly into it.

She braced herself with a quick pull of breath and then shimmied herself to the edge of the bed, and then reached down and grabbed the sides of the chair. Without thinking too much, she pulled herself down from the bed, and into the chair. She landed with a thud and a tingle that shot up her coccyx. The wires and tubes attached to her jiggled and pulled a bit. She knew that once she was disconnected from them there would be some kind of alert to the nurses, and one or more of them would come running to her room thinking something was wrong. She was going to have to detach from them and get out of the room quickly enough to be away by the time they came looking. She decided she would wait to unplug herself until she was mobile in the wheelchair.

She reached over and grabbed hold of the arm of the wheelchair and pulled it closer to her. It was going to be harder to pull herself into it being on the same level instead of shimmying down from the bed as she was used to doing, but she figured she could do it if she really tried. She grabbed onto the arms of the wheelchair, and pulling herself gradually up, thought she might be able to hoist herself up over the arm of it, and then move herself into the right position. For a moment that looked like it might happen, until the wheelchair moved the slightest bit—she had remembered too late that she needed to put the wheel break on—and her balance evaporated.

She fell to the floor, bracing her fall with her hands. She felt the stitches on her arm tear as her skin flexed and strained and pain radiated out from her middle as her bruised and broken ribs touched down to the linoleum floor. Bella stifled a scream, closing her eyes against the pain. There was a second when she thought she might as well just lie on the floor, defeated. She was in too much pain, she wasn't strong enough. She opened her eyes and saw the blood already beginning to seep through the gauze on her arm, just tiny dots of red against the startling white. The stand that connected her to an IV was leaning over, trying to accommodate the strain of being pulled to the floor without disconnecting from the port in the back of her left hand. The machine that monitored her heart beat had sped up briefly and was now settling back down.

In a movie there would have been a moment where she remembered some cruel thing James had said to her, or where she flashed back to some terrible torture and felt suddenly more righteous and strong. Instead, when she thought of all the hate and fear all she felt was small and scared. So it was small and scared that she dragged herself back to the wheel chair and pulled herself up to her knees. She rose up on them, like she was praying for a moment and then she lifted a shaky leg and touched her gauze covered foot to the ground.

She didn't feel pain until she put pressure on it. She had to hold her breath to keep from screaming. It was like standing on knives. But she swallowed the screams she felt beating against her throat and leaned forward, pulling the wheelchair against her shins. She maneuvered a slight spin, so she was mostly facing away from the chair and lowered herself down into it. When her weight was firmly resting in the chair and not on her feet she let out a small sob, picking up her shaky hands to wipe the tears off her face. She sniffled a little and steadied her pounding heart and fast breathing until she felt mostly normal.

She reached down to her hand and pulled out the tube connected to her IV. She reached into her hospital gown and felt for the little suction-cupped receivers on her chest that monitored her heart beat. She pulled the wires from the receptors and unclipped the finger receptor and left them behind her on the floor as she wheeled clumsily to the door.

Emmett hadn't been exaggerating about doctors and nurses who didn't know how to be quiet about their patients. Bella had heard them talking about plenty of other people in the hospital, but of course she was only interested in one. She only ever heard them talk about James twice, but it was enough to glean the information she wanted. He was in room 325. She was in room 416. She was able to find the elevator without much trouble, and fate was on her side when she pressed the down button and the doors immediately dinged open. She wheeled herself into the waiting elevator and pressed the 'three' button, waiting for the doors to shut on their own. It took only a minute for it to trundle down one floor and the doors to open, opening up to the floor she needed, where she could find James.

The first door she found was room 302. She started to go left first until she realized that she found room 300 next. So she executed a shaky turn and started wheeling in the opposite direction. It was slow going, turning the wheels of the chair was hard work, and she got tired so easily, not to mention that extending her arm hurt her already torn stitches. Trying to inconspicuous in a wheelchair in a hospital wasn't hard; trying to inconspicuous in a hospital with bleeding stitches a more difficult feat. She tried to appear as normal as possible, wheeling down the hall. She passed 317, and then a moment later 321, and finally 325. She stopped outside the door, unsure she could make herself go in.

There was so much evil behind that door. So many bad memories, so many nightmares, so much pain and hate and death and fear and she was terrified that it was going to swallow her whole. If she opened the door, if she saw him, she was afraid that every panic attack, sleepless night, bad dream, anxiety ridden bus ride, or walk home, or night spent with a knife under her pillow was going to flood her and she would be useless. She would be found in the doorway, paralyzed, useless, empty, finally the shell he was so sure he had created from her. How could someone so small go up against something so evil and come out untarnished?

What kept her going was the hope that if she knew he was dead she could put it all behind her. She had tried to kill him once, but that had been a reflex. She was shooting because if she didn't he was going to kill Edward and then he was going to kill her.

A voice in her head asked, _what do you think he is going to do if he is allowed to get up out of that hospital bed?_ And through a wave of nausea she reached over and grasped the handle of the door and turned it, before pushing it open. He would never stop, she realized. If he got up, if he got out, he would never stop until she was dead. He wouldn't even care if he went to jail then, if his work was done. As much pain as she was in, as much fear and pain and anxiety as she had been through, she didn't want to die.

She wanted a life, with her career, and a nice apartment and maybe even one day a dog. She wanted a life with Edward, time together without having to feel like they were doing something wrong, and Emmett coming over to watch baseball games and being friends with his girlfriend because they would inevitably double date. She wanted a life without looking over her shoulder. She could never have that while he was breathing.

She was as quiet as she could be, as though she were afraid of waking a sleeping baby as she wheeled through the doorway. Machines beeped in a steady rhythm. There was a soft whooshing noise as oxygen pumped through a tube, positioned under James' nose. If Bella had been attached to her own beeping machines they would have picked up and started blaring rather annoyingly as her heartbeat and breathing increased, first by two and then by three.

He looked smaller, lying there in the bed, covered by the same off colored green blanket she had been covered by in her own bed downstairs. His eyes were closed, but she didn't need them to be open to remember what they looked like. They were like chips of ice, empty, blue, and cold. His mouth was slightly open, pinkish lips parted, breathing loud. She imagined it hurt him to breathe, like it hurt her to breathe, those gunshot wounds would impede his breathing the same as her broken ribs. She wished it hurt him more.

She wheeled a bit closer, slowly approaching until she was right beside the bed. She looked at the morphine pump that was connected to his IV, similar to the one she had asked the nurses to remove. She reached up and pulled the tube from the port in his hand. It separated without much give. Liquid dripped out the end of the tube, liquid saline, morphine, antibiotics to make sure he didn't get an infection after his surgeries. The machines monitoring his vitals kept being away steadily.

The hand she had nearly touched while removing his IV was surrounded by a cuff, which was attached to the sideboard of the bed. His other hand was similarly restrained. His hands looked so ordinary, lying there on top of the blanket, just like ordinary hands that had done nothing but make sandwiches and write letters and put away groceries all their days. They certainly didn't look like they had ever held a blowtorch to a child's skin. They didn't resemble hands that had worn brass knuckles and broken a six year old face into so many pieces it was no longer recognizable as a face. Close cut nails, rough palms and callused fingers, they looked like the hands of a man who worked for his daily bread—a mechanic, a welder, a construction worker. They looked like honest hands.

Bella started to cry.

She hadn't really thought about what she would do when she got into the room. She was focused on getting into the wheel chair, and then getting to his room without being detected or intercepted. Now that she was here, she wasn't entirely sure what to do. How did one go about killing a killer? Everything seemed both too grotesque and too kind at the same time. Scenes from crime movies and Law and Order episodes flashed through her memory. Cause of death wasn't even the hardest thing about it; it was actually taking the life, removing a person from the earth. He would cease to be.

And she would be free.

III.

Breathing hurt.

They had been in the middle of the most severe tongue lashing Edward had ever gotten when there was a blare of bleeping alarms and ringing phones, and cheeping beepers from the doctors running around outside the door.

His captain and the District Attorney were both in the middle of telling him how stupid he was for sleeping the woman in the biggest, most explosive case Boston had seen in since the Strangler. He couldn't take the stand anymore; anything he had gotten evidence-wise was no longer usable because he had tainted it, if Emmett and Edward hadn't found Bella being held by him themselves, they wouldn't even have been able to tie him to the case at all. Between his favors from Tanya and from Felix, both of which they were as yet unaware, and his sleeping with Bella, the case they had was more or less useless.

Emmett was doing what he could to back him up, but he was getting his ass handed to him, regardless. They were in the middle of a diatribe about the responsibility he had to the public above all other things as a police officer when the cacophony of high pitched alarms interrupted. The DA pulled open the door quickly and they all saw a few doctors rushing down the hall in the direction of the surgical recovery rooms.

"Guess somebody coded; if we're lucky it was our boy James and all this wrist slapping can wrap up and we can get back to being detectives," Emmett said darkly.

Edward glanced at him. He appreciated the sentiment but he didn't think his being snarky was going to help the situation. Before anyone could go back to talking, the captain's phone started ringing. He picked it up and immediately looked to Edward.

"James," he said quietly. Edward squinted at him, unsure what he was trying to tell him. Then he said, "Bella."

Edward was out the door.

He had known something was off with her when he said goodbye to come to this stupid fucking sit down he was having with the big wigs. Something had been off in her face, in her eyes. She couldn't look at him directly and when she did it was like she was somewhere else. She told him she was tired, but that was a lie. He had known it was a lie when she said it, but he had let it go because he didn't want to push her too hard. Now he wished he _had_ pushed her. If he had, he would have seen it.

Emmett had told him in passing about what Bella said regarding her limited mobility and how if she were able she would kill James herself. Edward never thought for a second that she really meant it; even if he had, she was so _broken_ that it hadn't occurred to him that she could do it. He had just enough time to wonder how she had gotten to his room with such terribly burned feet and injuries covering her body before he turned down the small hallway in the recovery wing and pushed open the door to James' room. There were doctors standing around, looking at Bella and James but not moving. Bella was sitting in a wheelchair, holding a pillow in her hands.

It was obvious he was dead; the machine that would normally have been beeping away steadily was now emitting one single sound that persisted even though the subject on the other end of the line did not. Edward couldn't tell if James had woken up or fought. There wouldn't have been much he could have done, being restrained in the bed the way he was. She could have killed him and he couldn't have even lifted a finger to fight her off, in the chance that he had been conscious at the time.

Edward considered that justice had been done. A killer had been taken down by his most damaged victim, and maybe now, after all these years she could rest and not have to think about the what ifs surrounding him. But he also knew that Bella had just killed a man. She must have taken the pillow from the bed and smothered him with it. The medical examiner could confirm it later during his autopsy. Right now, he needed to take care of the scene.

"Bella," he said quietly. She didn't look up. She was staring down at the pillow in her hands. He said her name again, louder. She looked up at him then. And there she was. Right back in her eyes the way she should have been, there she was. Her expression was mostly blank.

Edward reached over to the cart that was sitting by the door and pulled a set of latex gloves from the box sitting atop it. He put them on and then went to Bella, and slowly pulled the pillow from her hands. She let him take it without much of a fight. The doctors in the room were just staring at them, watching them move with widened eyes.

"Can one of you―"

"I've got this," Emmett said from the door. Edward hadn't even heard him come in. "You take the girl. I've got this."

Edward could not have thanked him enough in that moment for letting him get Bella out of there. She was in shock; those empty eyes, empty movements, he could see it in the way she blinked at him that she was there and not there. He had to get her out of that room before she lost it.

She let herself be wheeled from the room without saying a word. He took her down the hall and after checking to see there were no patients inside, into an empty room. She was just sitting, placid, eyes glassy.

"Bella," he said quietly. She flinched. He said her name again and her whole body moved, seemed to ripple like she was shaking herself back into this plane of existence.

"Do you know what you've done?" he asked.

"What I had to do," she whispered. After that she said nothing.

* * *

Edward watched her.

He had just gotten off the phone with the district attorney. They had decided not to press charges against Bella. She had, albeit belatedly, acted in self defense, at least she thought she was acting in self defense. She had been so traumatized that knowing that her would be killer was going to survive could have scared her so badly she thought her only course of action would be to kill him.

They had some trouble at first, because she wouldn't speak, so they were unable to interview her and get any kind of statement from her. They pieced it together based on some of the footage from the security cameras, and what Edward saw upon entering the room, as well as the coroner's report and the physical evidence. Bella had entered the room, and smothered him with the pillow on his bed. Her epithelial cells were in the fabric, as was his saliva. There was pitikial hemorrhaging in his eyes, which indicated suffocation. All signs pointed to Bella.

It was Emmett, not Edward, however that talked some sense into the DA. He had been on some diatribe about vigilantism and justice and why we have court systems when Emmett told him that if he had ever laid his eyes on a child that was beaten until they didn't look human, or burned until their skin turned black, or cut up until they bled out he would give her a goddamn medal not press charges. The DA had ordered a psych evaluation. Bella hadn't spoken to him either, but the shrink had determined that she was suffering from severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and that not only had she operated under the assumption that she had no choice but to kill James, but that a trial might push her into a downward spiral from which she would never recover. He called it cruel and unusual punishment, said it violated her eighth amendment right and that he would launch a law suit against the DA's office if they even thought of pursuing the idea of pressing charges. As it turned out, they thought that perhaps it was in everyone's best interest not to go any further.

Her apartment was still trashed, the damage hadn't been repaired, she didn't have any clothes, a bed, or a working bathroom, so naturally Edward bought her a new wardrobe with the help of Emmett's lovely girlfriend and had Bella staying at his place. She wasn't talking to him, yet, but he wanted to give her time. She had seen more, experienced more, done more, in the past few days than most people went through in a life time. The poor woman was bruised and broken, and she was suffering more than Edward could bear to think about, but she hadn't broken, not for one moment, and he so he watched her, with love and concern and anguish.

She was sitting on the couch, the television on in front of her, but he could tell she wasn't watching it. Edward put on _What Not to Wear_ reruns and she would sit in front of the screen, her eyes open but not watching. He went over and turned the TV off, and she looked at him, vacant expression gone. She regarded him calmly, like she always did.

"I just got off the phone with the district attorney. He decided not to press charges, so this whole mess can just be over. You won't have to go through a trial. You won't ever have to talk about it ever again, if you don't want to. It's all over now, Bella."

Her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. Her eyes turned glassy, wetness spreading over them in an even sheen. She shook her head slowly.

"It will never be over," she whispered.

Those were the only words she spoke for three weeks.

Every day Edward would wake up beside her, make her breakfast, bring it to her while she was still in bed and eat with her. They would go for a walk, go grocery shopping, do laundry, eat lunch, see a movie, catch a nap, go for a drive, eat dinner, watch television and go to bed.

Edward was taking time off indefinitely both as a result of his indiscretions and because he wanted to be there to take care of Bella. She had nowhere to stay while they were redoing her apartment, for one. Not to mention that no one, Edward included, liked the idea of Bella being alone. The court appointed shrink had suggested a voluntary intake at a mental health facility. Edward had declined. She didn't need nurses and doctors poking and prodding her, locking her into a place with a bunch of certifiably crazy people who thought they had government chips implanted in their arms or that voices were telling them to execute the president. Getting doped into a stupor wouldn't help her find her way out of wherever she had gone.

What Edward thought would help her most was finding her way back to her normal life, at whatever pace was easiest, in whatever way was easiest. So while he was taking her through everyday tasks, letting her readjust to life, he was talking to her. It was what he considered to be his most important task. She never said anything back to him, but he could tell she was listening. She would sit and sometimes he would think she was somewhere else again, but then her face would flicker the briefest hint of a smile at a funny story, or frown when he suggested something for dinner she didn't want to eat. There was enough of a reaction to indicate she was hearing him, even if she wasn't talking back. He found her minor reactions encouraging.

He spoke to a doctor about Bella's condition, her PTSD, and her not talking. A psychologist, psychiatrist and medical doctor all assured him that it wasn't unusual for someone suffering from the kind of trauma Bella had suffered from to completely withdraw from her life. Her not talking, her frequent nightmares that she woke from screaming and crying, her constant flinching at loud noises, at accidental touches and crowded places wasn't unusual either. Patience and love was what she needed, they all agreed on that. From there the opinions diverted everywhere from medications, extensive psychotherapy, support groups and inpatient programs. Edward began to worry, however, that she was suffering too much, too long.

Her first had come two weeks after the day at the hospital, after he had told her about the DA's decision. He had thought she would start speaking after that. But the following weeks were filled with more nightmares, and more silence. She didn't speak for almost another month.

When she did, they had been watching a movie and Bella had fallen asleep. Edward had gotten up from the couch to get a glass of water, and while he was in the kitchen, Bella must have woken up. When she found herself alone she shouted his name from the living room. Edward came running.

She was sitting up on the couch, her hair a bedheaded mess, her eyes wide and frightened, instantly melting into relief when he came through the doorway.

"Bella, love, I'm right here," he said crossing the room. She mouthed his name again as he sat down beside her. She started crying as he took her in his arms. She just kept saying his name over and over as he rocked her, the movie playing in the background.

The next morning, after going to bed early, Bella sat up in bed when Edward brought her breakfast in. He set a plate down on her bedside table with scrambled eggs and toast. She looked at the plate of food on the nightstand and the one in his hand and smiled.

"Thank you, Edward," she said.

Edward stopped in his tracks on his way to his side of the bed. Bella laughed at his wonder filled expression. Edward closed his eyes and savored the sound of her laughter. It had been so long since he had heard her laugh.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked when the shock and elation had worn off enough for him to process words.

"I feel…found, does that make sense? I feel like I have been so lost for so many days, just floating through the every day and even last night I didn't know if I was ever going to come back. And then I woke up this morning and I realized that I knew exactly where I was."

"And where is that?" Edward inquired, setting his breakfast plate on his nightstand and sitting next her on his bed.

"Home, Edward, I'm home. Being with you is like being home, with all the windows shut and the door locked in a blizzard. The rest of the world can be freezing cold or coming apart or falling to fucking pieces, and I wouldn't care. You brought me back to your apartment, you took care of me when I couldn't take care of myself, you talked to me every day, you brought me back to life. I don't have enough words to ever tell you how much that means to me, or how much I love you."

Edward had been hesitant to touch Bella over the previous month and a half, because at first she had flinched away from his touch, like he burned her when his hand brushed her skin and later because he was afraid her pulling away from him was going to kill him and he couldn't take that kind of hurt over and over. He had tried to be patient but it was hard when he felt rejected again and again when all he was trying to do was comfort her. It wasn't her fault, not after what she had been through, but Edward was only human. He had stopped touching her because he couldn't take it. But he went to her now, pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her and held her as tightly as he dared. He buried his face in her neck, breathed in her smell, like flowers and honey and home, just like she said.

"You killed James so I wouldn't have to," Edward said into her hair. She flinched just the smallest bit, but her face reverted back to its previously placid state seconds later. "That told me enough, more than enough, more than words could ever say."

They stayed just like that, tangled, entwined, two made one, pieces made whole, for a long time. Edward thought, while he was laying there quietly with Bella, that maybe he would propose to her, maybe he would marry her, maybe they would fill a house with children, two girls and boy, hell maybe they would even get a dog. He could get used to the idea of a life with her in it, couldn't imagine anything else, in fact. They would work and play and live and learn and grow together and they would get old in the same bed and he would love her every single day of the rest of his life. They would fight, they would go through rough patches, just like all couples did but in the end they would come out of it closer, stronger than they had been before, their foundation tested but proved sturdy.

He smiled at that idea and pulled her tighter. She hummed in pleasure.

Their breakfast got cold, and neither one of them seemed to care.

* * *

**I hope you liked it, in fact, I hope you loved it. You have all been so wonderful through this whole story, your support and encouragement has been both appreciated and treasured. You, faithful readers, have been what pushed me to reclaim my inspiration and dig into this, to find its end, even though sometimes it was hard. I welcome your final thoughts.**

**Chedea  
**


End file.
